The Hunter
by DuckofIndeed
Summary: Long ago, Count Razoff had a life outside the Bog of Murk. When that life tracks him down decades later, he is faced with the unsettling realization that more has changed than he had anticipated.
1. Chapter 1: Secrets

I began this story over a year ago, and then other things got in the way, namely my "Jak and Daxter" novel, "Blackened Hearts and Desert Pearls", and this story got long forgotten. Nevertheless, I remained interested in continuing it one day, and I finally have gotten around to it. I always liked Razoff, and yet, I prefer a less goofy version of him than how he's portrayed in the game, so this came about. I am going to try to update Saturdays or Sundays, if I can manage it.

Razoff, the Bog of Murk, and other various things are property of Ubisoft. Eva, on the other hand, is my original creation.

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><p><strong>The Hunter<strong>

**Chapter 1: Secrets**

_To my love,_

_I hope life finds you well. I have not heard from you in some time, and I can only hope that you have received my letters and have simply been too busy to respond. As long as you are safe, that's all that matters. I just wish I knew for certain._

_It's been thirty years since we became engaged, and I so dearly miss your smile and your eyes that never miss the smallest of details, and while I can dream that you have become so much more handsome in all our time apart, one can only live off dreams for so long._

_I must see you. I can't wait a minute longer, if I had a choice. I have been hearing so many rumors about you lately, and I know they can't be true, but I hope you understand that I wish to see my doubts proven correct with my own eyes. And I have some very important news that I wish to share with you. It's something I_

A feathered pen froze in mid-stroke, hovering over the parchment in a sudden loss for words, before all its hard work was smudged as the letter was crumpled within one fist and tossed aside.

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><p>The Bog of Murk was a dead place. The dark, murky waters teemed with piranhas that would eat to the bone the legs of anyone unlucky, or stupid, enough to step off the muddy banks. Swarms of stinging insects convened around the orbs of light in the twisted, black trees. And toads, many of which did not begin that way, thanks to the bog's resident hag, hopped amongst the fungi and rotten logs that stuck out of the water. But, despite these more unsavory creatures, the bog was still dead, with no beauty and no life besides the unpleasant things. Save for one.<p>

In a section of the bog equally as inhospitable as the witch's, and much too far away for her liking, stood a grand mansion, raised above the filthy waters a good ten feet to avoid the bog's frequent floods. Inside were several floors of large rooms and a maze of hallways with red walls and crimson and gold checkerboard-tiled floors and the finest wood imported from somewhere most certainly not here, all decorated with statues and portraits of all shapes and sizes.

But, despite the grandeur of it all and the obvious wealth of whoever owned it, the mansion, too, was a dead place. A palatial tomb, silent except for the ticking of the giant clock in the hall off the foyer and the crackling of the fireplaces. Every hearth was lit in the place, too many to count, to ward off the ever-present chill of the bog. So cold was the mansion that steam came from the vents as the furnace in the basement attempted to aid the fireplaces in pushing the chill away. But, death was cold, and not even all this could warm it.

But, tomb or no, this place was indeed occupied, even if the average person would have trouble finding the single resident if he did not wish to be found. This lone being currently sat in an office, lit by a chandelier of countless candles and one of the mansion's many fireplaces. A tall and slender reptilian man, he possessed spotted, green skin and was adorned in the same red and yellow of his mansion, his wide-brimmed hat currently resting atop the tall red chair. And the scene could not possibly have been complete without making mention of the rifle propped nearby.

If a lonelier living arrangement could be found, few could think of it, but if this man was lonely, it was impossible to tell, looking upon the unreadable expression on his face, with raised eyebrows and half-lidded eyes. All that could be said with any certainty was that he was thinking, his previous task currently forgotten. A journal sat open on his desk, a large quill pen held in one hand while his elbow rested on one arm of the chair. Of course, one could argue that, being cold-blooded, this man was simply lethargic from the cold that still filled the room despite the fire nearby, but no, he was indeed thinking, secret thoughts, that he had voiced to no one in countless years. Not that he could, but it was quite likely he didn't wish to do so in the first place.

A soft grin appeared on the man's face, and he leaned forward to continue his notes, recording his most recent kills in a flowing handwriting, pen scratching on paper. No, this man was certainly not a murderer, though many would claim otherwise. This man was a hunter, a most excellent one at that. Many knew him as a villain, sentiments they felt just as strongly about every other member of his family. Jealous of their wealth, he would say. Hatred was simply misguided adoration. But, murderer, villain, fiend, or whatever other word that was given to him, whether accurate or not, the name he went by was Count Razoff Shoedsackovski.

Once he had all the details down on paper, he returned the pen to its inkwell, journal left open to allow the ink to dry, and picked up a delicate white china cup from its saucer, one of the few things that weren't red, but it did have a golden trim. He took a sip, only to find his tea had gone cold. He returned it to its saucer with the slightest clink (being accustomed to stalking prey, he had gotten used to being quiet in all things), but his usual grace was forgotten when he reached for the rifle beside his chair and knocked it to the floor.

The hunter frowned down at it. His secret thoughts must still have him preoccupied. He leaned over the side of his chair and reached for it, glancing from the corner of his eye a particular drawer in his desk. This one had been locked for some time, but to keep others out, or himself, it wasn't certain. He considered it a moment longer before grabbing his gun as if no detour from that action had been taken, and with one smooth motion, he picked his hat up with the end of his rifle and dropped it neatly upon his head.

Razoff stood and put out the candles. The fireplace would burn itself out eventually, and it helped keep the place relatively comfortable. He grabbed the teacup and saucer with one hand and went out into the hallway, rifle resting on one shoulder. It was long after nightfall, and the mansion was dimly lit, aside from the fireplaces and the moonlight coming through the windows, when it wasn't obscured by clouds.

The hunter padded through the many rooms and hallways of his sprawling home, a labyrinth to any but him, as he had roamed these passageways for far too long. Much longer than he had planned on, but it couldn't be helped, and after so long in isolation, he didn't know if he could go back to an ordinary life, where there were too many things to distract him from his hunting and his thinking.

Here, the only one who bothered him was that horrid witch. (How lucky he was to escape from her that time. He couldn't blame her for being obsessed with him, but she had the filthiest imagination.) He shook his head to rid himself of those memories. Oh, yes, and the livingstones. Sometimes they'd wander onto his property, the disgusting, belligerent things. They would make all sorts of rude gestures at him while throwing out the vilest of profanities, but them he could handle. A few well-aimed shots from his rifle, and they were running, or limping, for their lives. He considered just killing them outright, but they would make terrible trophies. The witch, on the other hand, was lucky he didn't shoot women. And he hated to think what she'd do to him if she _didn't_ like him.

Eventually, he made it to the kitchen, where he washed the teacup and left it to dry. He once had servants for such a thing, but he could no longer trust them to behave themselves, leaving him with no choice but to demean himself with such menial labor that was never meant for someone of noble blood. Now all that was left was to retire to his room, the day's chores complete, but upon reaching the upper landing of the vast hall containing the gargantuan clock, his feet took him to the massive wall of windows, to look out over the bog that stretched to the horizon and beyond.

As nice as the solitude was, sometimes his time here felt like a sentence. It was the rule that every Shoedsackovski, upon reaching 16 years of age, isolate themselves in some forgotten section of the land, to focus on hunting and hunting alone. He could only return once he had captured something most spectacular, as his father and mother had, and their ancestors before them. Razoff knew he was an excellent hunter, as near perfection as possible for a mere mortal, but never could he so much as _find_ prey to match that of his relatives. It was disheartening, to say the least, and even if he no longer minded it out here in this forgotten (and avoided) corner of the world, the fact that he _had_ to stay tarnished his feelings a bit. His family was actually long gone, killed in events not befitting hunters of their stature, but he wouldn't abandon tradition that easily. No, he would catch that magnificent prey and then… Well, there wasn't much to return to, but he'd cross that bridge when he reached it, and Polokus help anyone or anything unlucky enough to meet the hunter on that end of the bridge.

Finally, Razoff made his way back to his bedchambers (a most unnecessarily large room like every other, at least, in the eyes of anyone who was _not_ the hunter), adorned with yet more portraits of the mansion's owner, and a large, four-poster bed with red, silk sheets. And while anyone else would have been more than happy with such sleeping arrangements, the hunter lay awake for many hours before finding rest, so lost was he in his secret thoughts.

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><p><em>I met the most wonderful boy today. We ran into each other when I was out picking herbs in the swamp. Can you believe it? Just like that. I'm walking along, searching for toadwort and minding my own business, then what do I lay eyes on but boots, bright, red boots that stood out like you wouldn't believe. I look up, and it turns out these boots belong to the handsomest boy I've ever seen. Why, he couldn't have been more than a year or two older than me, and he looked so dashing in a long, red coat and a wide-brimmed hat.<em>

_I don't know how long he had been standing there, quiet as a tribelle drifting on the breeze, and watching me stare at the ground like an absolute ninny. All my work that day was for nothing because I dropped everything I had spent a good couple of hours collecting, but I couldn't be seen carrying about a bunch of leaves with dirt and Polokus knows what clinging to them, now could I? No, not in front of that prince of a man. I am certain he really _was_ rich, too, based on his clothes and that aristocratic accent he had._

_Oh, but I get ahead of myself. We talked. I suppose that's pretty obvious, but we did. Not a lot, but it was enough for me to know that I might've found someone really special. People teased me and questioned why I made my mother sew me fancy clothes when we have so little and when we live in a muddy swamp, but this only proves that all my time tiptoeing around so I wouldn't stain the hem of my skirts paid off in the end, after all. If I dressed like a princess, I was bound to find a prince eventually. And I think I did._

_You see, I _wasn't_ so frivolous, was I, Toba? At least I bathe._

_But, that was mean, wasn't it? No one's going to know anyway. I wouldn't say it to his face._

_Oh, but come to think of it, I didn't get the name of my prince, did I? He asked me to meet him tomorrow evening, at the pond. It's such a beautiful spot. I have no idea how such a clear pond ended up in the middle of this murky swamp, but it really is lovely. And private, too. I'll ask him his name then, and once I have that, maybe my parents will believe that I really did meet a prince. A _real_ one this time._

_(But, how could _I_ have known that that boy was just the traveling salesman's son? He had such nice taste in clothes, and he talked so fancy. I think anyone could've been rightly fooled.)_

_But, I'll need to give him _my_ name, too, won't I? How can I risk him finding out I'm just a common, poor girl like everyone else? Rich people always have long, hard to say last names. Maybe if I think up one, he'll think I'm from a noble family, too._

_Let's see, what can I come up with? Eva Alexandros. Eva Charlotta. Oh, I got it. Eva Bellevere. I suppose that could work, if I don't think of anything better in the meantime._

_But, Eva's too short. I think I must be Evalyn. That might not be my real name, but… Well, I suppose I can't change myself _too_ much. When I catch my prince, I still want him to fall for _me_, not someone _completely_ invented._

_Eva Bellevere it is, then._

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><p>For those of you who don't know, Razoff was apparently based off of Count Zaroff from the 1932 version of the movie "The Most Dangerous Game", directed by Ernest Shoedsack, which was based off of a 1924 short story of the same name (though, Zaroff goes by <em>General<em> Zaroff in that version), by Richard Connell. The woman in the movie (who doesn't appear in the original story) is named Eve….

I watched the movie on Youtube around the time I started this story, and Zaroff does share some similarities with Razoff, such as the fact that they both roll their R's, and Zaroff sometimes hunts with a bow, and Razoff uses a rifle that shoots arrows. Zaroff also has a pack of hunting hounds, which are referenced later in my story. Further information on Razoff came from the Ray Wiki.

Anyway, please review and tell me what you think so far.


	2. Chapter 2: Lies

Another chapter where I write much fancier than I really should. And reading "Frankenstein" in the meantime is probably not helping. So flowery.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Lies<strong>

_I now know the name of my prince, and while it makes no difference to me, I simply can't tell my parents who he is. They'd just die if they found out. Father especially. He'd have a heart attack and keel over, just like that._

_His name is Razoff. Yes, _that_ Razoff, the son of Count Zaroff Shoedsackovski. _I_ don't care who he is because he's the most charming boy to have ever existed, but I know how everyone else feels about his family. Zaroff thinks he owns all of us just because the land we live on supposedly belongs to him. But, that doesn't mean Razoff's like that. I'm sure he isn't. He was ever so nice, and we had the most wonderful evening together, which I must write about in more detail later, when I have the time. I promise I will. Don't you fret._

_But, I had to lie to my parents that he never showed up. I knew they'd ask for his name if I told them I saw him, and I thought lying about who he was would be even worse than just lying about whether or not we met again. I do hate lying to them, though, and my parents were so angry that he neglected to meet me like he said he would. But, just like my lie, they'd be angrier still if they knew he was the hated Zaroff's son. They wouldn't understand that he's not like Zaroff, so I'm not going to even try explaining it to them. Mother might try to understand, but Father can just be so stubborn sometimes._

_I had to lie a lot lately, come to think of it. I had to give Razoff my fake name, and thankfully, when he asked me where my family was from because he had never heard of us, he didn't push me when I couldn't come up with an answer right away. I think he bought it, though. I think he surely did, just as I seemed to do a fine job of talking with a lot of fancy words, and he wants to see me again sometime. I have to think of a way to ask mother for nicer dresses without making her suspicious. I thought I looked like a real princess in those clothes, but next to Razoff, I feel so drab, and I really must get something better, or perhaps he might start to wonder if I really am from a rich family like I said. Otherwise, why would he go for me when he could surely have his pick of any _real_ rich girl as far out as the Bayou? He mustn't ever learn my real identity, and neither can my parents find out I'm going to see him again. I just hope I can keep my little secrets hidden from everyone. I never was good with secrets._

_Oh, Eva, what have you gotten yourself into?_

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><p>The ever-present chill of the Bog of Murk became even more biting than usual with a pervading dampness that marked the bog's rainy season. To be perfectly frank, "rainy season" was a term that could be applied with little argument year-round, which only gave even more meaning to the title. The cold was one thing Razoff had yet to grow accustomed to when he was lacking in the ability to shiver like the warm-blooded creatures, especially those garbed with fur (he found it most objectionable to be covered in hair so, a sentiment that was only reversed when such creatures made rather nice rugs). But, hunters often had to do unpleasant things, such as trekking through mud and snow and mire and sleeping in trees so as to avoid the things that prowled the night. It was just a hazard of the occupation, of which there were many, made worth it when the rewards far outweighed the discomforts.<p>

Nevertheless, here he was, padding along a new path than he took the day before, as it was the predictable prey that was the easiest to catch, which also doubled as the least valuable, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of the bog's muddy banks for some sign of that superb prey he had sought for so much of his life. There was one beast in particular, the rybex, that was so fierce in disposition and so grand in stature, not to mention so regal in the curved horns upon its head, that he had devoted a good two decades searching for it since discovering signs of one's existence in the more remote reaches of his territory.

It was a terribly elusive creature that he had only seen once before, but that was why he worked so diligently to encounter a second, doubly so when the mighty Rayman had escaped his grasp just a year prior. That scoundrel was more trouble than he was worth, really. He was almost glad the villain got away. But, Count Razoff, one of the most revered hunters within and without the Glade of Dreams, didn't admit defeat so easily, and he would never consider himself as having failed until the last breath had escaped his lips, which he wouldn't allow until the rybex was his and its head adorned his wall in a place he still kept empty for that very occasion.

He roved about as long as his sluggish body would allow before he had to turn back. Such a climate really was not ideal for a reptile, his old swamp being a humid and cozy place, and he would be sure to warm himself inside and out with some hot tea and a roaring fire as soon as he returned. No sign of the creature was to be found, just as was the case with every day that came before, but it was out there, somewhere, this he knew, and it had to pass by this way again someday. Someday soon, he thought, and he hoped, for he felt something deep in his very bones that told him this was so, and his hunter's intuition hadn't failed him yet.

The hunter made his way home, pausing when he heard a rustling in the undergrowth as he passed through one of the less barren sections of the bog. It was surely not the rybex, but he readied his gun, nevertheless, only to draw back when naught but a toad leapt out and stared at him with blank eyes. Little could he be certain if it was truly a toad or another unfortunate victim of the hag, and he walked by as it croaked one and two times, his pace quickening to return him to the safety of solid walls and locked doors once again. He had come very close to meeting the same end not so terribly long ago, and he didn't wish to tempt fate.

For some time now, his hunting had been less successful than he would have liked when he could scarcely force himself to stray from his home any longer or any farther than necessary. He couldn't expect his prey to always come to him, he knew this, but after that witch had carried him off one night... She had, in fact, gotten right into his house, had appeared in his very basement through the enchanted mirror he had since smashed and scattered beneath the dim waters of the bog. It would never happen again, he'd make sure of it, but never since had his frequent walks about his territory felt the same. It was a trait common among all hunters that they did not take kindly to _being_ the ones hunted. His prey didn't, either, but that's what they got for being such simple-minded creatures.

Even upon his return home, however, he was not able to warm himself to a sufficient degree, and though he sipped tea fresh-brewed by the fireplace on the upper level of the grand hall with the massive clock, he rose from his seat not long later to check the nearest floor vent, and, as expected, neither could he see steam rising up from it or feel the warmth he should expect from the furnace he kept going nearly year-round, and with a sigh, he finished his tea in one gulp, his drink feeling so much hotter in contrast to the cold, and headed for the door beneath the stairs in his foyer to descend the narrow staircase into the lowest level of his mansion.

Even now, he held his rifle in both hands, for his basement was home to far more than just the furnace and the rats he once used as target practice, before he turned to the greater challenge offered by moths and other smaller creatures. His basement, in fact, also housed quite a collection of the prey he had captured. Sometimes gazing upon his finds when they were still alive offered even more satisfaction than those lifeless ones he had converted into trophies, but that also provided more opportunities for danger in an already perilous occupation, recreation, whatever it may be called, and it had been made quite clear on more than one occasion how much his prisoners, for lack of a softer word, resented him for the freedom he had denied them.

And as he crept ever softly across the stone floor, unseen creatures stirred with restless unease, while chains clinked as his captives shifted in their cells. They were mere beasts and unworthy of the common courtesy awarded only to those of higher breeding, but it didn't mean they couldn't inflict him with an undue amount of bodily harm if given the chance, and he was inclined to hold his breath as he passed by the metal doors keeping them at bay, and he sensed the unmistakable feeling of eyes peering at him from out of the darkness. He could sense even more venom emanating from one cell in particular, the cell of a creature, a magical being, in fact, he had found badly wounded just over half a year ago. The fact that she could talk did not elevate her much higher than the other things he kept here, and she really should've just been grateful the hunter had shown her mercy to begin with when it was not something he practiced often. Most creatures couldn't comprehend mercy, so what point was there in giving it if he wasn't in the mood to do so?

Razoff's gaze remained ahead of him as he walked between the cells, his earlier careful creeping turned into a muted march. He was the one with the authority here, and it would not do to have them forget that. He reached the furnace beyond, quite an unfortunate location for it, though it was a trip that turned out to be quite uneventful, and he peered within as he tried his best to ignore the pinprick of many eyes upon his back. The firewood had run out, and he was left with no other choice but to shovel more in, even if it left him defenseless so long as his rifle remained merely propped nearby rather than gripped in his hands. Again, like with the dishes, he once had servants to do such demeaning work, but he had learned the hard way that even that small of an allowance was too much for their simple minds to handle.

No, such duties had fallen on him and him alone, for they had gotten free once, thanks to that fiend Rayman. Just once, but of the few mistakes he allowed to happen, there were never repeats. If they had to be kept eternally locked away, then so be it. He only hoped this didn't fuel their resentment of him all the more, but they left him with no other options.

The hunter's usual silence was given up for the quickest of seconds when he slammed the furnace shut again, and he could almost feel those watching draw back, before he turned, rifle once again in hand, and strode back the way he had come with his head held high. No, it wouldn't do at all for them to forget his position here. It wouldn't do at all for them to remember the day they had been set free, for it was not something that would ever happen again.

Razoff returned to his chair in the grand hall once a new pot of tea had been brewed, already a noticeable difference in the brisk air with the heat of the furnace back to do battle with the chill that had no right encroaching upon his mansion to begin with. Nevertheless, he still knew it would be cold once he strayed from the radius of the fireplace, so much more so with nightfall pulling its curtain across the sky, and he was almost made to shiver like a warm-blooded creature at the mere thought of it.

In all honesty, he should be heading out, to hunt for the things that dusk brought, but he remained steadfast in his armchair, the awareness of what he _should_ be doing not enough to compel him to actually do it, and he continued to sip at his tea and gaze out the massive wall of windows that made up the upper half of the room. Storm clouds were building out there, dark and angry, to bring darkness early to the bog and to soon unleash their fury upon all the unfortunate fools outside. Here, he was safe, however, from the deluge he knew would soon come, but an uneasiness settled into his stomach as he watched the storm roll in until it had covered the entire sky and loomed above his mansion with an unnatural heaviness, the grumbles beginning, but no flashes of lightning yet to be seen, while not a single drop struck the window panes. Motionless, he watched the woolen blanket of grey outside, darkening as the unseen sun retreated further.

The rain never fell that night. The grumbling intensified and a few patches lit up on the clouds' underbellies, plain to spot in the blackness, but no rain fell, and the storm was strangely windless, the insects forgoing their usual slow nighttime chirp, and he shifted in his seat in the decreasing orb of light he occupied by a dying fire. The giant clock echoed in the large room, a mechanical heartbeat, and he left the room, his tea abandoned in favor of his rifle, only to stop and listen to the silence that greeted him. Or more precisely, the sound he now caught thanks to the silence. It could merely be a tree scratching a window, but with the absence of wind outside, he had to wonder if the sound perhaps came from _inside_, and he lifted his weapon to a more alert position and wrapped his three-fingered hands more securely about it.

It could be any number of things. It could be the rats scratching about, as they had been doing since the day he had moved in, a sound that he had once believed was far too unsettling for him to ever learn to tolerate, but had. It could be the settling of his mansion upon its foundation, a possibility even more disturbing than the rats when structures had a habit of sinking in these parts. But, what made him freeze in place and strain his keen ears was the chance that other things had made the sound. He had long worried the witch would come for him again one day, even more so than the prospect of his collection getting free from the confines of the basement, though it reversed on occasion which he dreaded more.

When the sound did not repeat itself, he crept out onto the landing and peered over the bannister. The door to the basement, he caught in the gloom, was open, and he stared down at it as the thunder grumbled once more outside, and he wondered if he had perhaps failed to shut it earlier. His eyes then moved to scan about the floor below before his gaze climbed the stairs and stopped on the dark rectangle of the empty doorway a short distance from him, leading to a room whose fireplace and candles he hadn't bothered today to light. No one and nothing escaped the hunter's notice when he had half a mind to find something, and a life spent spotting the smallest twig out of place or the stirring of dust in what should have been an otherwise still room made it impossible to hide from him for long, least of all in his own home, but he took a far less direct path down to the foyer, a path that allowed him to bypass that dark doorway, and he closed and locked the door and jiggled the knob several times. If he simply checked to see if anything was amiss downstairs, and he would certainly know, he could confirm to himself that the room beyond the doorway needn't be avoided so.

But, he really was a fool for worrying to begin with. It was just him in this place, him and him alone, just as it had always been, as the creatures in his basement didn't count as company and were securely kept locked away. He was alone here, and that was how he spent the night, alone in his bedchamber with a locked door and hardly a wink of sleep despite these reassurances.

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><p><em>Oh, this is terrible! I'll never be able to tell my parents now!<em>

_What happened is, I can hardly even talk about it, it was so awful, but you see, Rema went looking for his son. The little thing's always so naughty and running off when he ought not to, and this time, poor Rema just couldn't find him. He looked all over for him; he even asked me if I had seen him, and it's just so very upsetting to think I saw him just before…_

_Because he's gone now. His son came home, safe and sound, aside from the spanking Ms. Kacia gave him when she found him hiding in the mangrove trees and gorging on sweets. But, Rema never came back. He never came back._

_Everyone thinks it was Zaroff that did it, and as little as I like making accusations against Razoff's own father, I think so, too. We can't know for certain, but someone heard a gunshot off in the direction of the Shoedsackovski mansion, and Zaroff said years ago that he'd hunt anyone who ventured onto his property. He claims to own the entire swamp, our village included, and he's quite "gracious" to let us stay here at all, but anyone who strays too close to his mansion is "fair game" and at risk of becoming one of his "trophies". I shudder to think of what happened to poor, dear Rema. He was such a nice man. I think that's why his son took advantage of him so._

_Father was so angry when he heard what happened, and mother just cried. The people of our village are so sick of Zaroff; they have been for so long, but what can they do? I don't want anyone to get hurt, but even if they wanted to get back at him, they say he never misses, not with a bow or a rifle, and he has a whole pack of hunting hounds that he would be more than happy to set loose on them. They're mean, nasty things, from what I've heard. Even Razoff hates them because they're loyal to Zaroff only and have bitten him on more than one occasion when he was a child. He says it's thanks to them that he's so nimble now._

_And that's why I really can never tell Mother and Father about Razoff and I. I feel like a horrible person, thinking this when Jana and Isak lost their husband and father, I really do, and maybe I _am_ a selfish girl. But, I wanted so very badly for my parents to understand that Razoff isn't bad just because his father isn't the best. We celebrated the one-year anniversary of our first meeting not so very long ago. It was such a romantic night. We stayed up late and watched the stars through the canopy, and he told me of the many places he had been. I don't particularly want to hear of the poor creatures he's hunted, but I so loved hearing his stories about the Fairy Glade and the Menhir Hills and even the Land of the Livid Dead, which sounds like the most awful place imaginable, but if I was with him, I think I could go absolutely anywhere, and it would be heaven. I really could, too._

_But, after what Zaroff did, how can I ever convince my parents that Razoff is different? I had thought, now that we had known each other for a while, that maybe they'd be more open to the idea, but I suppose it's for the best I haven't quite worked up the courage to tell them yet._

_I found the prince I dreamed about, and I can't even share the news with anyone. Oh, I _am_ a selfish girl to fret over such a thing, aren't I, but it's hard to hide something people teased you about and told you you were silly to ever think you'd get one day. I love Razoff, and he loves me, and once we're of a more proper age, we're sure to get married. Now how could I possibly keep _that_ a secret? I guess at that point, there's not much they can do about it. That's certainly a romantic way of thinking about it, huh? I think not._

_I suppose I can't expect things to be like in the storybooks, though. I guess I'm just lucky I've come as close as I have._

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><p>I do wonder if Razoff ever escaped from Begoniax…. Not that he didn't deserve getting kidnapped by a short and squat, old witch.<p>

Anyway, I hope you are enjoying my story so far. And do you have any guesses on who's in the cell in Razoff's basement? Please review, dear readers.


	3. Chapter 3: Eva

Razoff is in for a surprise. As for you, dear readers, I'm not so sure. Just wait and see.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Eva<strong>

_I saw Razoff today for the first time in a couple months. He said he thought it was best to keep away from our village (well, not _my_ village, but rather, _the_ village…oh, you know what I mean) for a little while after what happened, but one day, I got a letter asking me to meet him at the Shoedsackovski mansion, and I couldn't stop my heart from fluttering at so many things, seeing him again and seeing his home and the fear of how he had managed to find me. He'd know I was poor for sure if he were to see how I lived, but when I asked him, he said since I never told him where my family lived, he had one of his servants give the letter to the first person they found with the hopes that they'd know the way to "Eva, his dear, sweet moonbeam". Oh, Razoff, you always know what to say, even though I don't think I look like a moonbeam at all, white dresses or not. Not that I'm going to correct him or anything._

_Well, I was pretty nervous to go onto Zaroff's property, but he said his father was off on a hunting trip, hunting hounds and all, and his mother was busy "fletching" new arrows for herself. Apparently, hunting really runs in the family, and while I'm surprised she doesn't have servants do that, he said a true hunter is in charge of maintaining their own weapons. How else can they be sure it's up to their highest standards? Well, I don't know, but I guess I'll just have to take his word for it._

_Well, he has a lovely home. I only got to see it from the outside because someone would surely catch us if we came in, but it's so very big and grand, like a castle, only not quite that big and not made of stone like a castle usually is. Not that I've seen a castle before, but that's what I've heard. The grounds are so beautifully manicured, too. I never saw weeping shrubs look so tidy._

_We took a nice stroll, arm in arm like a proper prince and princess, all about the grounds, and we talked as if we hadn't been apart at all, and I nearly forgot that there was something I wanted to ask him about. I wanted his side of things, about what happened to poor Rema, and I think he knew, but he didn't say much. I guess he can't say a lot against his own father; I can understand that, but he also asked me why it bothered me so much. Because someone died, I said, and he shook his head and grinned, and he said it was a terrible thing that happened, and… I don't know. Maybe I'm thinking too much into it, but I wonder how much he really meant it._

_I shouldn't say such a thing, though. I can't say what's going on in someone else's head. I just don't know what he meant by such a question._

_It's over now, I guess, and maybe it doesn't matter (well, of course, it matters, but I don't think I'm going to get any more out of him) because he told me something else very distressing. He's going away in a few months, once he turns sixteen, as it's tradition for every member of his family to leave home at that age, and they can't return until they've captured some especially impressive prey, whatever that is. He said he didn't tell me sooner because he didn't want me to worry, but I'm worrying _now_, and we could've made our remaining time together more special if I had known. He has no idea how long it will be before he returns, hopefully no more than a year or so, but that's simply too long for us to be separate. How can I possibly go that long without seeing his genteel face and hearing that so very posh accent of his? He promises to write, and so will I, but that doesn't make up for it._

_He did ask me to marry him, once he got back, and the only reason I'm not squealing in excitement is because of this dreadful news he had to give me just before. I'll await him faithfully, even if it takes him ten years to come back (by Polokus, I hope not!), but I think it's a stupid tradition. I told him so, but he just laughed. It is, though, and I suppose if it's important to him, it's important to me, but it really isn't. Having him _here_ is important to me, but men are a stubborn lot, and he cares far too much for his family's silly traditions and that awful hunting than is good for him. I just hope he's safe. He's going to the Bog of Murk, I think, and I've heard unpleasant things about the place. They say people never return from there, but if it's because they got nibbled up by piranhas (who do a lot more than nibbling, I hear) or turned into toads, I don't know. He just better be careful and not return as a toad or any other unpleasant creature. That's all I'm saying._

_He's lucky I love him so. I'm lucky he loves _me_ so. So I'll wait, just as I said I would, but I do hope he hurries. How hard can it be to shoot a big, old brute of a creature anyway? I think he could do that without leaving home. We get xowar coming through here occasionally. Why can't he just wait for one of those?_

_But, does something have to die for Razoff to return to me? Is that really the only way?_

* * *

><p>The rainy season took up again the many storms it ought to have, and on the rare occasions they would stop, they would only start up again with an even greater intensity than ever before, and Razoff had to pick his way carefully across what remained of a shrunken and sodden landscape. His search for the spectacular prey that was his late family's tradition was made more difficult when nearly all the evidence would be washed away, but he had spent his entire life in wet places such as this, and so picking out the eroded signs of life before even that was eaten away was not so difficult a task, even if it would be impossible for anyone else.<p>

Of course, the rain made footprints far more obvious when the soil had been reduced to mush, one thing even the most amateurish of hunters could have spotted, but of these, all he found were the formless indents left behind by the abundant toads, the prints of livingstones, of those that were barefooted and in shoes alike, and a set he paused on, only to be on his way again when he decided he may or may not recognize it, but wished to ponder no further over the matter. He found trees split by lightning, as well, blackened, too, from the sheer intensity of it, and scraggly patches of grass flattened by heavy raindrops, but he found evidence of nothing larger than a paluchard.

It was not until he resigned himself to the acceptance that he would find nothing worth his time that, upon his return home, he heard a sniffling and a cursing through the rainfall, and when he traced it to its source, he found a livingstone sitting in the mud and dripping to such an extent, one would almost expect him to drown from mere raindrops alone, as he tried with all his might to pry off a trap clamped shut upon his ankle.

The hunter arched his eyebrows at the wretched display, and once his presence was known, his victim attempted to spring to his feet, only to fall again onto his back end with a splat, spouting more profusely than ever a wide variety of profanities that would have made his mother cry, had he been any other species.

"I can't tell which you're in a fuss over more, being caught in that trap or being forced into your first bath in years," Razoff said with his rifle resting upon one shoulder.

The livingstone glared at him from beady eyes set above a long, crooked nose, looking like he wanted to strike the hunter dead from his gaze alone. "Lemme out!" he said and gave the trap several more futile jerks, as if the details of his predicament weren't already clear enough. "Lemme out, ya filthy, no good, pile o'—"

"Let _you_ out?" the hunter said as he strode forward. "And why would I want to do that?"

"'Cause," his victim said, "'cause if you don't, I'll kick yer—"

Razoff shook his head and chuckled to himself. "Oh, how I'd like to see that." He grasped his rifle in both hands. "I suppose I'd better put you out of your misery."

He returned home that day and the days that followed with nothing to bring back but creatures he had caught too many times prior, but only did so for mere practice, and he spent more evenings drinking tea and pondering over the cause of his own lethargy.

He found a suspicious set of footprints one morning that wandered much too close to home, one which he could have too easily followed to the culprit, if he had been so inclined and if he hadn't been put off by the identity he was sure they belonged to and the fact that they were so clear and obvious, it was almost as if they _wished_ to be followed, and he made an early retreat back to his home and made sure and double sure the door was securely locked and the windows latched. Not so long ago, he would have never blanched at the sight of mere footprints, regardless of what, or who, they belonged to, but perhaps being on the other end of the hunt when that vile witch snuck in had caused a greater blow to his psyche than he had at first realized, and he scolded himself inwardly for allowing himself to indulge in such foolishness for so long.

It was ridiculous, really, for someone of his breeding to behave in such an irrational manner, and yet, here he sat, nevertheless, wrapped in blankets and huddled in a chair by the fireplace when the furnace ran yet again out of firewood, and he couldn't bring himself just yet to descend the basement steps and replenish it. He continued to hear the strangest of sounds, sounds that weren't rain or wind or thunder, and he arranged his armchair in the evenings so that he sat with his back to the corner with the clearest view of his surroundings that he could manage. He was armed and knew the meandering passageways of this place as well as anyone could know anything, and better, but it didn't mean he desired to enter his basement and find a cell empty that really should be occupied.

As another night came and the chill of the house grew, he shrunk further into the blankets wrapped about him as he watched the darkness press in on him and the firelight, and he listened to the storm outside, a rather thorough one tonight, not that they all weren't, and he found that he had a good deal of trouble releasing the grip on his rifle. He used to feel safe in his home, even when most would feel uneasy alone in such a large place where anything could be going on in some far-off room. Until now, he was the master of his domain, and anyone who came onto his territory was sure to suffer an early end. But now, he watched the paths leading off from where he sat and the grand hall below not much differently than he would a dense forest filled with savage predators, and he started in his seat when he heard a distant crash, and after a moment frozen in shock, he leapt to his feet and rushed in the direction from which it came, and his heart pounded harder with each corner he rounded.

His dash was halted when he arrived in the kitchen, lit by nothing more than the fireplaces in the rooms nearby. And though he was now frozen on the outside, his mind and his heart continued to rush about as he asked himself just why there were broken dishes and a shattered teacup on the floor. Perhaps he had left them there on the counter without bothering to wash them quite yet, it was possible, but that certainly didn't account for the sorry state they were in now.

His gaze shot to one of two doorways, the one he had not come in by, quite an odd arrangement for a kitchen, really, but he was never one to corner himself, and this was one situation that proved such an endeavor wise. He considered the doorway longer, an orange light coming through from the lit hearth within, and a creaking sent his back to the wall behind him and caused his rifle to aim of its own free will at some half-expected assailant, while he simply hoped he was keeping watch over the correct doorway. He stayed still, his heart fluttering at the memory of that open basement door. How could he allow himself to be terrorized so by a simple doorway and what was likely just the usual sounds any old house would make?

He forced himself forward on light footsteps and through the dreaded doorway, but when he swept across the room with both his eyes and the barrel of his rifle, not a thing was found, not even the feet of someone trying to hide behind the furniture. He lowered his gun with a sigh and a shrug. He really _was_ being quite ridiculous. There was no one here. Carelessness was to blame for the door and gravity for the rest, and he had no reason to fret over such things. And he never had before, that was the thing, so why was he doing it now?

He let out a cry without meaning at all to do so when he heard yet another unidentified sound, distant, but there, and it took him several moments to note his rifle was shaking in his hands before he could put a stop to it. Such a noise certainly came from something, _someone_, with no feeble excuse as carelessness or gravity to blame this time. And though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to go absolutely any direction but _towards_ the source of the noise, he was a hunter, and hunters simply couldn't flee from danger, lest they be doomed to never capture prey of anything more grand a stature than a mawpaw.

With his course of action decided upon, Razoff crept back the way he had come with no small amount of hesitation, the sound a frantic racket, as if some mad creature was rattling the door of its cage and seeking escape, and it grew louder as he approached the foyer, his heart moving with such a speed, he half-expected it to leap out of his chest and make a wild dash in the opposite direction once it was certain _he_ was not already planning on doing so. He had locked the basement door. He checked it every night, every afternoon, at least, before it grew dark. And yet, as he peered through the next doorway he reached, rifle first, the door under the stairs still appeared undisturbed as it ought to be, and he turned next to the front door.

Thank Polokus, the sound was coming from _outside_ his home, but based on the ferocity of the fuss it made, it seemed it wanted very badly to come in.

The hunter approached the door, the wild beating weakening, and he outstretched a hand once he could pry it free from his rifle and gripped the doorknob.

He was armed, not with mere weapon alone, but with keen senses and quick reflexes. The witch, on the other hand, if it indeed _was_ her, had magic. It all depended on who could use it first.

With a mighty effort, he flung one half of the massive double doors wide, his rifle once again returned to the ready position, and he jumped back as a lithe figure, soaked surely to the bone, fell over the threshold.

* * *

><p>Hmm, who could it be? Oh, who am I kidding, you've surely guessed, haven't you?<p>

Please review.


	4. Chapter 4: The Rybex

Eva finally decides to join us in the story. How nice of her.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: The Rybex<strong>

"Forgive me if I sound blunt, but I still don't understand. Why have you come out all this way, Eva?"

A reptilian lady sat wrapped up in towels in the armchair nearby, drinking hot tea with an obvious desire to consume it all in one gulp and warm herself as quickly as possible, if it had been a thing ladies did. What the blankets didn't cover of a dainty blue lace dress looked threadbare in places, and the pink bows on the skirt and puffed sleeves appeared to be of a material trying very hard to mimic silk, curious details to be found on the clothing of one of higher breeding. Of course, no one but Razoff would notice such things, and right now, this initial appraisal of her dress was forgotten once his eyes rested on a delicate face and skin of a most flawless complexion. As much as she loved his spots, he loved her lack of them.

He hadn't set eyes upon her in many decades, but hardly had she changed in all that time. She was as lovely as ever, but now with the kind of beauty only maturity could bring. It had been easy to lock away the letters she sent and ignore them when he had forgotten the pretty face of the one who had written them, but now that she sat before him, it was hard to believe he had been capable of neglecting such a lovely creature so.

"Razoff," she said in a voice that could put bells and songbirds both to shame, "we haven't seen each other in so very long. Why should you even have to ask?"

He smiled, and her solemn expression was given up in favor of one more like his, and he chuckled. "Of course, my dear, but it's also that very reason that your presence here is such a surprise. I would have thought you had forgotten me in all that time." Razoff settled further into his seat, his elbows resting on the armrests as he took a sip from his own teacup.

Her grin widened, pushing dimples into her cheeks. "I sent you letters. It would be hard to do such a thing if I had forgotten about you."

"Nevertheless."

They grew silent, and she began to tap one trimmed nail against her cup, and her eyes flicked to her lap when she had fallen under his gaze for too long. When it seemed no more would be said if no intervention was taken, the hunter spoke again.

"You chose a rather unpleasant time for a trek through the bog, my dear. It rains much more than it has any right to all year long, but it's this month that is worse by far. There are piranhas in those waters, you know. I do hope you watched your step."

Her lips curved into a smile yet again, though her eyes remained averted. "Oh, I was careful. I—" Her gaze rose to his once again. "It's such a…a dreadful place you live in, though. How do you stand it? Being cold and wet and miserable—"

"I have little choice. It's what us Shoedsackovski's do. I half-wonder if that might be one of the reasons people think my family mad."

A cloud darkened her face, and she grew stiff in her seat. "Oh, Razoff, about…about your family…" Eva said, her smile reversed, before she took up speaking to her lap, "I don't know if anyone's told you, but—"

"I know, Eva. I received a letter some years back from my old nursemaid, Magda."

Her slender neck remained arched, nevertheless, and her gaze steadfast on her feet, exposed with her muddy boots removed and left behind in the foyer, and her lips moved as if she continued a silent conversation even his sharp ears couldn't catch.

"They're gone, Razoff," she said at last, "Dead. My…the…the villagers…they all revolted…and killed them…and-and burned down your parents' mansion. They didn't even spare hardy any of the servants. I…" Her eyes rose to rest on his, settling in a place they needed to be, even if it took effort to keep them there. "I'm sorry, Razoff."

He remained still, considering her with a half-lidded gaze. "Why should you be sorry, my dear, for an atrocity _others_ committed?" He paused, his gaze sharpening for the smallest perceptible second. "They're a simple-minded, uncivilized rabble, those common folk. Aren't they, Eva?"

She stared at him, lips parted, then, she nodded her head. "Y-yes. Yes, they are."

Razoff shook his head. "It's all in the past now, though, my dear, and it still hardly feels like it really happened with my old home so far away."

"Yes, but…I know you weren't terribly close to them, but I would still think—"

He raised a hand to silence her. "Eva, my dear, let's not talk about this right now. Surely you don't want to start our first visit in so many years on a topic so morbid, do you? How has _your_ family been? Is Martin happy with Lizah?"

She blinked at him. "Wh-who?"

The hunter arched his eyebrows at her. "Your brother, my dear. You wrote to me some years back that he was engaged to a girl of a lower social standing than him, did you not? You see, I _do_ read your letters. Is he happy with her, or did they not go through with it?"

Her head shook from side to side, but in answer or in a lack of comprehension, few could be certain. "No, he was never…oh, yes, yes, he _did_ get married. Ah, and they are quite happy. I…I think it's nice…that they love each other so, even when they don't come from the same background." Her eyes flicked between him and her cup before settling on him again. "Wouldn't you agree, Razoff?"

He grinned, closing his eyes as he drank from his teacup, and she leaned forward, watching him with an interest quite peculiar for so ordinary a thing. He returned the cup to its saucer, managing to do so with absolute silence, and let out an exhalation of breath. "I suppose there's something to be said about following one's heart," he said and nothing more, and when she saw she wouldn't get anything else from him, at least, not by staring, she forced herself back in her seat, though she remained straight-backed.

"And your parents. How are they?"

"Fine. They're just fine."

"And most important of all," Razoff turned his head, considering her with a sidelong gaze and eyebrows again raised, "how have _you_ been faring all these years? Keeping busy, I hope?"

This time, she did not return the grin offered to her. "Yes, I've been…keeping busy. And you? I suppose you've been spending your time hunting, then?"

"Well…" This time, it was his turn to put serious consideration into a response of his own. "Yes, I have been hunting. That's what I do. I can't fulfill my family's tradition otherwise. But, that's not the only way in which I've been occupying my time."

"What else have you been doing?"

He thought about this. "Playing the harpsichord."

Her eyes brightened. "Really? You must play something for me."

"Perhaps another time." He was a bit rusty. The harpsichord, on the other hand, if he was in the mood for rhyming, was terribly dusty. Though, if his servants had been behaving themselves, it wouldn't have gotten in such a state. On the other hand, it was likely for the best that they were no longer about for her to see them. For whatever inane reason, it seemed frowned upon to use those flies and other such creatures to do one's bidding, even when employing those of a greater intelligence for the same work appeared to be much more accepted.

Her grin weakened when he truly didn't appear to have any intention of serenading her any time soon, and she continued, "Razoff, I…I really am glad I was able to find you. I needed very badly to see you again. It's…it's hard to explain why; I…I just missed you, and…"

Razoff set his cup and saucer on the table nearby and leaned in closer to her. "You don't need to explain. It's nice to have another living soul in this empty place. I wasn't expecting visitors, but I'm sure I can find a room for you. You _are_ spending the night, aren't you?"

"Spending the night? Oh, yes, I'd love to, but…yes, I'd very much like that. Thank you."

Her eyes followed him as he stood, and he extended an arm. "Come with me. It's late, and I'm sure you're tired."

She stood, one hand still clutching the blankets to her as she raised her free arm, and he linked his arm with hers and began to lead her off in the direction of the guest room, the one he recalled to be in the most acceptable condition, at least. She spoke no more during their walk, and he supposed he could show her around in the morning, when the rooms would be better lit, and she would surely be more awake. He watched her close, however, as he bid her goodnight, for there was something amiss in her eyes, but try as he may, not even he, with decades to hone his hunter's senses, senses that normally kept nothing secret from him, could surmise exactly what secret she was hiding.

* * *

><p>It was the contemplation of this very secret that denied sleep to the hunter, and he tossed and turned all night until a very early hour of the morning when, unable to continue the charade of rest any longer, he got up and went to his office, still dressed in a long, red silk nightshirt.<p>

The hunter brought along with himself a key that went to no door, but to a particular drawer of his desk, and he knelt before it, rolling the key this way and that between his fingertips before at last using it for what it was meant for. It took a fair bit of wiggling to get the old lock to turn, but he managed it, and he set the key upon his desk before sliding the drawer open to reveal all the letters Eva had ever sent him, enough that they threatened to spill out if he didn't exercise care.

She had been so diligent in her correspondence with him, while he…well, suffice it to say, other things had intervened, and perhaps he had waited longer to respond than he ought to have. He still _read_ every letter she sent his way, but they had spent so much time apart, and after so long without any form of interaction, with him solely to blame when he had neglected to hold up his end of the promise, he had quite a lot of reacquainting to do.

Razoff began to remove the letters, one by one, studying the contents of each in turn as he tried to remember exactly who the woman that had shown up on his doorstep last night really was, and he found himself going back in time as he delved ever deeper into his secret drawer. The woman she had become he had only known by the words she had written, while the girl he had met those many years ago was just a distant shadow of happy times he recalled happening to someone else.

Razoff certainly couldn't say how many hours he sat there on the floor of his office. He wasn't even aware it _was_ hours aside from the fact that he had grown rather sore since this recollecting of his had first began, and he looked up when he heard a voice calling his name. He began to shove the letters back into their old storage place, not entirely sure _why_ he was bothering to do so, and when her words began to grow distant, he peered over the top of his desk at the doorway he had left much too open, when he was wearing such immodest attire.

"Eva, I'm in here, but please don't come any closer! I'm not as dressed as I would like to be!"

Laughter like chimes met his ears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! But, you _do_ realize that sounds a bit worse than I think you intended!"

He did realize that. Just as it was not lost on him that it was far too early in their reunion for him to have ever made such a confession. The fact that they had become engaged, even if it was so very long ago, only served to make it that much worse.

Once fully dressed, but still with the temptation to hide out in his room until she had forgotten the whole matter, if she ever would, he got to showing her about as much of his mansion as he could, and it was fortunate he had so many ways of reaching the same places, as it made it much easier to avoid his more heavily-used trophy rooms and his vast collection of firearms of all sizes. His careful maneuvering, however, was not enough to prevent her from questioning it, and it proved to be for naught when he was forces to divulge to her the contents of these rooms when she pointed out, smiling or not, that she would only assume something even worse than the reality if he refused to tell her.

His tour ended a good deal earlier than lunchtime, and he couldn't show her around outside with the morning drizzle, leaving them with little more to occupy their time than breakfast, something his stomach didn't feel much up to at the moment, or, as always, talking, though the majority of the topics he could come up with had already been covered last night or involved a pastime he knew she disapproved of.

They settled with breakfast, a task Eva insisted she take on and which she was far better at than a noble had any right being. They had tea and biscuits and fried cuckoo eggs, all of which were prepared with such expert skill, as simple as they were, that he hadn't any trouble regaining his appetite and gobbling them down, as he hadn't been eating terribly well as of late, come to think of it, while she settled with the tiny bites and sips characteristic of ladies.

"Razoff." Eva was the first to break the silence that had settled upon them since their attention had turned to food, and he looked up from the biscuit he had been in the middle of adorning with plum jam to catch a playful sort of grin upon her lovely features.

His eyebrows rose when she failed to continue. "Yes, my dear?"

"I couldn't help but notice…" She hid her smile behind one hand.

"Yes, yes, what _is_ it you've noticed?"

"Well, it's just that…" She lowered her hand, allowing it to join the other in folding into segments a red, cloth napkin, and though it seemed she had managed to compose herself, the upturned corners of her lips remained. "You certainly seem to have a…a rather…expansive collection of statues and portraits…."

"Yes…" He didn't much like where this was going.

"And I just couldn't help but notice…"

"Yes, I'm well aware of the fact that you've noticed something. Now what is it?"

She looked up from the napkin she had since reduced to an eighth of its previous size. "They're all of you. At least," she giggled, "most of them are." She propped her cheek up on one fist. "Mind telling me why?"

By now, she was putting no effort at all in hiding her amusement, and he set the biscuit down as he wiped jam from his knife with a napkin.

"Well, Eva, my sweet, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that."

She nodded. "I'm sure there must be."

"I have all those statues and paintings because, well, how should I put this?" He leaned back in his seat, a hand to his chin in deep consideration, and she leaned in over her plate, putting the rather large bow at her neckline in very real danger of landing in egg yolk.

"Yes…?"

"You see…"

"Mm-hmm…"

"It's all because…"

"Uh-huh…"

"I'm a handsome devil."

He thought she was going to fall out of her chair with the sheer intensity of her laughter, and it took a good amount of willpower not to join her, though he couldn't prevent a few chuckles here and there that weren't halted even by a hand pressed to his mouth, as he watched Eva writhe about in her mirth before it all ended with a few unceremonious snorts. With that, she went still and cleared her throat, and he grinned at her.

"My dear," he began, "I'm glad my little attempt at humor amused you. As for a more serious answer to your question…I suppose it all boils down to the fact that our kind sometimes has a bit too much money at our disposal, wouldn't you say? I do hope, though," he lifted his biscuit from his plate and took a bite from it, "that you're not implying you have a _problem_ with how I decorate my home? You don't, do you?"

She shook her head. "No. No problem at all." She crossed her arms. "My…my home has plenty of statues of _me_, as well. Wonderful statues. Statues of me posing and dancing and…even statues of me in my nightgown."

"Don't you _dare_ bring that up again."

"I already have."

Razoff shook his head with a widening grin and a sly wink. "Eva, I never, in all my life, thought of you as the immodest type." With that, he ate the rest of his biscuit, but when his attention returned to his companion, her eyes were downcast, her grin, however, remaining, though it appeared to only still be present due to forgetfulness. "Eva…"

"Razoff," at last, the smile fell, "when will you ever be coming back?"

"Eva, I've already told you—"

"I-I've waited so long, and…it's one thing that you no longer respond to my letters…really, I'm not cross with you or anything, but I still want to know when…_if_ you're ever coming _back_."

She attempted to peer into his eyes, but his gaze only sharpened, a wall no one could penetrate, just as he had yet to see through the veil her own eyes possessed.

_Why_ had she come here?

"My dear, I always planned on coming back. I may live out here in this dismal, old bog, but my home, _our_ home, is in the swamp where we met. I have long yearned to return there one day, and I will, once I've fulfilled my purpose here."

She lunged towards him, stopped only by the table between them. "But-but Razoff—"

He stood, and she drew back. "Eva, come with me. I want to show you something."

She was strangely hesitant, but with a little coaxing, he led her down many winding hallways and up many old staircases, creaking with age accelerated by damp, until at last they reached the attic, where the heavy rainfall the early drizzle had become was loudest of all, pattering on roof and eves and windowpanes. He had to resist sneezing in the dust they had stirred up, and she walked with him past many decades of accumulated things he had stored away up here, to become neglected and forgotten (including even more portraits he couldn't find room for downstairs), to one of the windows, where gave the greatest view of what lay beyond.

"Do you see it, Eva?" he said, and she gazed out at the barren and inhospitable bog far below and all about them and at the grey, sullen clouds that hung, full and heavy, above.

"Yes. Yes, I see it," Eva said with a soft voice nearly stifled by the rainfall and the rumbling of thunder outside. "But, it still doesn't answer my question. In fact," she looked up at him, "it only proves—"

"Hush, my dear," the hunter said, placing a finger to her lips. "I know far better than you what a miserable place this is, but I cannot leave until I've captured prey to match that of my ancestors. I may not have had the best relationship with my father, but if just one thing proves me as his son, whether I liked it or not, it was our family's desire to prove we were the greatest of predators. That is why I'm out here, to do that very thing. It isn't meant to be fun. It is my duty, to prove that our family is still on top, even when I'm the last one that remains. My father conquered the dastardly Space Mama, and so shall I conquer this Polokus-forsaken bog. I am the last great hunter, and I can't give up before I've proven that."

Razoff withdrew his hand, and he leant in closer to the window, until he could feel the chill seeping through the glass, and he looked upon the decayed landscape below, a view distorted by the orbs of rain clinging to the windowpane.

"But, perhaps it would be better explained if I told you a story."

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><p>"My father had many enemies, but there are no animosities more brutal than that of father and son. I spent a good deal of my young years with him, and that was likely the cause of the majority of my feelings for him. Since the day I could walk, it seemed, we went on hunting trips together, and while it was clear he wished to pass on his knowledge to me, he also expended much of his efforts in proving to me that he would always be far better at <em>using<em> this knowledge.

"You likely don't know, because I never told you, but there were days I wondered if _I_ was the prey during some of these expeditions. I can't recall the number of times I walked into traps laid out for _me_ rather than the beasts we sought, and while he may have been correct in his claims that this was the best way to teach me to more carefully study my surroundings, it still does some damage to a young boy's psyche to receive so cold a remark when one is crying from a broken ankle after having stepped into a vicious trap.

"And yet, no matter how diligently I tried to follow his example and learn what made him so great a hunter, I always fell woefully short. I suppose it shouldn't have come as a surprise; he had been in the business for decades longer than me, but I could never get used to the amusement he got at my own expense or, worse yet, the laughter he would bring to others when he told them of my shortcomings.

"After failing to live up to his absurd standards for years, a day came, when I was fourteen years of age, that I felt confident in my skills as a hunter and believed that, for the first time in my life, I had what it took to compete with him. In answer to my boasting, he challenged me to a contest. There was a rare beast, the fierce, yet beautiful rybex, one of which we knew to live in a cave in one of the more treacherous peaks of the Iron Mountains. The climb alone was dangerous enough, and that was not to make mention of the creature itself.

"We travelled together most of the way there, and it was at the base of this peak that we split ways. He told me that if I managed to subdue the ryebx first, he would accept me as an equal hunter, or at least, _almost_ his equal, but if _he_ was to capture it first, that was proof enough his ability was vastly superior to mine, for if I was ever to exceed him, I should already have the skills needed to do it. (He was _that_ good of a teacher, you see. At least, as far as he believed.)

"I began at once to make my way up the slope, an even more difficult task with the current downpour. It took me a good many hours to reach a relatively level place to take a look around. There was, thus far, no sign of my father, but, with careful searching, I did manage to find a sign of the creature I sought, fresh footprints in the mud and twigs broken in places too high to be anything else. Now all that was left was to track it down, and so I got to following the evidence laid out before me until I heard rumbling up ahead. I crept towards the noise, and when I peered over the side of a steep embankment, there it was, asleep in the cave below. I had a clear shot of it—

"—don't you worry, my dear, I'll leave out the more objectionable bits—

"—and I was just ready to, well, you know, when…I was pushed. I didn't even hear him coming, which was one of the first things a hunter must learn to avoid, and I slid down, creating a fine racket and effectively awakening the beast. I was quite certain I had bruised a rib, or broken it, even, but I tried to ready myself, nonetheless, when the beast, in its outrage and surprise, charged at me. I tried to move out of the way, but the pain in my chest made it difficult to do so, and it lifted me up with its ferocious horns and tossed me aside.

"And yet, despite my pain and the beast's erratic movements and the dust it stirred up, I still attempted to steady my rifle yet again. But, I was too late. Before I could get the finishing shot off, my father had already done it himself with his bow, and he came sliding down into the cave with the most aggravating smirk I have ever and will ever see.

"He told me he had won, that _he_ was still the better hunter, and as much as I protested that his actions were unfair, he only gave me another one of his self-made proverbs. 'How can hunting ever be fair?' he said. 'There are no rules but to survive and not let anyone get to your prey before you can.' And perhaps that's true, but due to his willingness to put his only son in harm's way for his own gain, I was denied the opportunity to be the first in our family to ever capture the elusive and revered rybex. And not only that, but I was denied the chance to become the legend my father was.

"He humiliated me. People continued to laugh, and we continued our little hunting trips he claimed were to mentor me when they were really just to boast. If I had caught the rybex, my dear Eva, if he hadn't been more than willing to stoop so low, I would have never been forced to come to this awful place to begin with."

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><p>I enjoyed writing about Zaroff more in this chapter. His personality, as you'd expect, is based off of the Zaroff from the book, even more so than Razoff is. Please review, my dearies, and tell me what you think.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5: Squirrels and Monsters

This chapter has a rather corny beginning, I must admit, but I think it starts to get more interesting later….

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Squirrels and Monsters<strong>

"No, really, I'm not saying I condone it or anything, but—"

"Eva, how many times do you insist we go over this?"

"Until you choose to answer me. Now, what I want to know is…" Eva sat upon the footrest she had chosen as her perch for that evening, and she sipped tea that had stopped steaming long ago, for her recent chattering had prevented her from finishing it before it had grown cold. "What I'm _very_ curious about is…"

"Yes, yes, just get it out already. Even though, once you've said it, I'll surely wish you'd kept it to yourself." The hunter slouched further in his armchair, absently stirring sugar into the fresh cup of tea he had just poured for himself out of sheer forgetfulness, even the clattering of the spoon gone unnoticed to him.

"What I was _wondering_ was—"

"Just spit it out, my dear! Spit. It. Out."

She closed her eyes, an indulgent grin on her face, and she tipped forward ever so slowly, her tea held in her lap. "How exactly…does one…go about hunting squirrels, my great and mighty hunter?"

"I thought you were going to say something like that." While he knew he couldn't rightly accompany her to the bathroom, he still couldn't help but fret over what sort of things she would find on the way there. One of his many trophy rooms, for example. He had suspected she would be the type to wander off from the day he met her. And he was right.

He leaned towards her, just in case that would help in driving the point home. "And I'll have you know, that is a very rare breed of squirrel, found only in the most remote regions of the Menhir Hills. There are predicted to only be a handful left in the wild."

She tilted her head, her earlier glee replaced by the concerned knitting of brows. "And is that thanks to you…or your father?"

"Neither. Hunters are, believe it or not, my dear, not the sole cause of all misfortune in the world. It was climate change and the death of an ancient forest that once stood there a long, long time ago that did them in."

"So you thought you'd hurry their extinction along, then?"

Razoff huffed as he threw himself back in his seat. "Eva, I am really not the proper person to have such a conversation with."

The corners of her lips began to inch skyward again as she clucked her tongue at him. "Touchy, I see. I just thought it was curious, you know, to waste time hunting such a tiny creature. I had a pet tribelle once as a child. I'm quite grateful you never decided to shoot _it_."

The hunter watched her with eyes half-hidden, his expression quite impossible to decipher. "Eva, my sweet. I suspect a tribelle would outright _explode_ if shot at."

She stared at him, absolutely aghast. "Oh, that's morbid, Razoff!"

"I'm not saying I've ever actually _witnessed_ such an event. I'm just saying that's what I _think_ would happen. There's no crime in that, is there?" He shook his head, his own question answered. "I remember you telling me about your pet once. What was its name again?"

Grin returned, Eva said, "Flutters. I named her Flutters. I was less creative back then."

The hunter sipped his tea. "What would you name such a creature _now_, my dear?"

She planted a fist beneath her chin, eyes turning to stare at the rafters overhead as she always was so keen to do when in deep consideration. It seemed even time itself overlooked some details. Her shoulders shook in a single chuckle. "I'd probably still call her Flutters. What about _you_?"

"What would _I_ have named your tribelle?"

"Yes. Yes, I'd really like to know."

It was now his turn to contemplate her query, and he made her wait even longer than she made him, sipping his tea in such a fashion, it was as if he was in a contest to see just how far a single cup of tea could go.

"My dear crumpet," he said at last, "there is one fundamental flaw in your logic."

"Oh, is there?" Her face took on a mock seriousness. "And what is _that_?"

"You see, I would not have had a pet tribelle to begin with. The only pets permitted in _my_ household were hunting hounds, which appeared to rather enjoy the taste of me. I don't need another animal around that wishes me harm."

"Oh, but tribelles are the sweetest creatures you'll ever meet. Why, Flutters—"

"Then, you've never seen the poisonous variety, have you? Not so sweet when they get their barbs in you."

Eva opened and closed her mouth, while he made as if her wordlessness had gone completely unnoticed by returning to the very important matter that was his tea. "That's not fair. You didn't answer the correct question. I specifically said…" she paused to blink at him, before adding, "You _cheated_."

He grinned. "I know. It worries me a little, but I think some of my father's lessons must have rubbed off on me. Teaching one's own son the advantages of cheating. A noble endeavor if there ever was one, wouldn't you agree, Eva?"

Though he chuckled at this statement, Eva's expression had darkened, and the hunter detected a tension in her muscles, so minute a thing, really, and one that only a hunter would notice.

"You…you don't think you've become _too_ much like your father, do you, Razoff? I mean…" Her eyes dropped to the floor, only to glance upwards again, as if she couldn't look at him directly, and he tried to peer into her gaze, to pull aside the veil that had since returned to her vision. Was this in some way related to that hidden secret he had noticed last night?

Come to think of it, he knew that look. It was akin to…suspicion.

"No, my dear. I may share my father's blood and his passion, but that does not make me like him. I do not…I am not like him at all." His eyes sharpened further, and he caught the slightest perceptible wince in her own. "Why do you ask me such a thing?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything…. It was just a question, that's all."

They both grew silent, she returning to studying the floor, while he tried again to look into her eyes, to delve into the twin pools that were her gaze and find what lurked deep beneath their murky surface. If she _was_ keeping a secret from him, he _would_ find out what it was. But, why did it feel she had the same goal in mind?

With their conversation at a standstill, his attention was drawn to the pattering of rain outside, which he didn't think had ceased but for a minute or two that morning, and the clock, always beating out that steady rhythm, a constant reminder that untold seconds and untold hours had passed him by in this place, and surely countless more before he would ever get his chance at escape.

"Would you…would you have become a hunter if not for your father?" Eva asked, and he caught her studying him out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't know," he said, and a smile began to creep again across her face, even if they had yet to touch her eyes.

"You know, I think…I think we've become rather sidetracked, haven't we? Don't you remember what we were just discussing?"

"No, no, I don't believe I do."

"The squirrels, Razoff. We were talking about the squirrels."

The hunter arched an eyebrow at her. "Can't you think of anything pleasant to talk about tonight, rather than such topics as whether or not I shoot squirrels in a manner similar to my father?"

"Well, _do_ you?"

Razoff pushed himself higher in his chair to sit in a more proper fashion. "For one who claims to be so peaceable, you certainly have a morbid fasciation for shooting squirrels."

"Because I find the whole notion absurd, my dear hunter."

"Well, at least you've finally decided to give me an honest answer."

"How many squirrels does it take to make a rug, Mr. Hunter?" she asked, trying her hardest to maintain her dignity, though by the way her shoulders shook, she was failing.

"You've really been drinking too much tea, my dear. With far too many scoops of sugar. Or…" Razoff arched both eyebrows at her this time. "Or you're _teasing_ me? _Are_ you teasing me? Because I don't think that's wise. I _am_ a hunter, after all, a fiend whom, as you are so content to keep pointing out, has no trouble assaulting tiny, woodland creatures."

"Is that a threat?"

"Do you _need_ to be threatened?"

She met his gaze. "You don't seem to realize that I have a secret power that can lay even the greatest beast low. Even more so than your silly gun."

Razoff leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "And what _is_ this secret power of yours?"

She stared down her snout at him with the regal air of a queen about ready to announce a prisoner's execution, and she spoke but one word. "Tickling."

His eyes widened. "But, that fate is the only fate where a man can die laughing! Anything but that!"

She stood. "No, _nothing_ but that."

Before he could defend himself, or flee, she pounced, and he kicked and flailed, while she laughed just about as hard as he did, and he was tempted to cry out his surrender when she stopped, her head shooting up to stare off behind him, and he twisted about in his seat to look back in the direction her gaze was pointed.

"What is it?" Razoff asked.

Eva drew back, her head swiveling this way and that. "I…I just thought…"

The hunter leapt to his feet as a sound came up through one of the nearby vents, a distant wailing like some far-off specter, and Eva moved closer to wrap her arms around one of his.

"Oh, Razoff, that sound! What could it be?" she said, her voice trembling, and he slipped free of her grasp.

"Just stay right here, and I'll—"

"No, Razoff, don't leave me!" She attempted to grab hold of him again, but he stepped away and picked up the rifle he kept ever propped nearby.

"It's surely coming from the basement, my dear. You will be perfectly safe, so just stay put, and I'll be right back." He placed his wide-brimmed hat upon his head and gave her a nod, but she reached out for him.

"Oh, promise me you'll be careful. It could-it could be…ghosts," Eva said. "You don't think…"

He waved a hand at her. "Nonsense. Ghosts wouldn't _dare_ haunt my domain. I'm sure it's just the creaking of a rusted, old furnace." The hunter turned from her and began his march in the direction of the foyer.

"Well, what if-what if it's…some kind of wild animal? A…a monster?" she said behind him, and he paused once more, and only once more.

"My dear," Razoff said, turning back to her. "I am a hunter. The _greatest_ hunter since my father. Perhaps greater still, even if he would never admit it. We exist to rid the world of monsters. Now stay. Here."

With that, he headed off down the upper walkway of the grand hall, his rifle gripped tight in his hands, though he wouldn't need it. The only beasts in this place were kept in chains and behind bars. They could not, _would_ not, ever be free again.

Once he had reached the foyer, he crept towards the basement door, and he felt about in his pockets for the key that would unlock it. But, before he proceeded to do so, he pressed an ear up against the door. The wailing had since died down, but he could still detect the clinking of chains commonly produced by restless creatures. They could do this almost anytime, even if he would much rather they did not, but _now_, of all times, when he had such a visitor as he had now. Why did they have to get restless _now_?

Razoff opened the door, locking it behind him before he began his descent, and yet, as he approached the cells, those that hid within did not stir at his presence as they so often did, and he stopped.

"That's more like it," he said. "And unless you want to become trophies on my wall, you'll _stay_ this way. Captured prey is to be admired, but never heard. Do you understand me?"

No response was made, which could be taken as response enough, and his eyes flicked to one cell in particular, _that_ cell. His keen senses never failed him, and he thought he had just caught the shadow of movement in that cell.

_Her_ cell.

He turned away, feeling a pinprick on his back from an unseen pair of eyes, but he resisted the urge to walk faster, and it was a relief when he turned the corner of the curving staircase and was again unlocking the basement door.

Once back in the foyer, he returned the key to his pocket after ensuring the basement was securely inaccessible and inescapable once again, but as he turned, he let out a shriek unbidden when a shape caught his eye at the end of the staircase that led to his mansion's second floor.

"Eva, what did I say?" Razoff asked, straightening the hat that had nearly fallen off his head in his surprise, and she drew back as if _he_ was the monster she had suspected to be lurking in his basement.

"I'm sorry, Razoff! I just wanted to—"

He marched towards her. "Eva, when I tell you to stay put, that's exactly what I want you to do! Do you understand? You could've…gotten hurt."

She raised her hand to her mouth, her fingers curling into the palm. "Razoff, I was just worried! What was it? What was—"

"Nothing, Eva," he said, and she grew silent, though her fist remained pressed to her lips. He drew in a deep breath. "Like I told you, it was just the creaking of a furnace that's lasted long past its years. It's absolutely _nothing_ to worry yourself over."

"But, it sounded…so ghastly. Are…are you sure?"

The hunter wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to lead her back up the stairs, in the direction of their usual sitting spot. "Eva, my dear. It's merely the furnace and nothing more. And that's all it ever _will_ be."

* * *

><p>I didn't like this chapter much at first, but I suppose it's not so bad, really. And, do you have any guess on who's in that cell? Hmm?<p>

Please review and tell me who you think the mystery prisoner is, dearies.


	6. Chapter 6: The Mouse

The tension mounts!

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: The Mouse<strong>

A lovelier time could hardly be had by any couple than that next week they spent together, though there was always one thing lurking about in the shadows of the hunter's mind, the task of keeping hidden a secret that was trying ever so hard to break free. Every night, the wailing in the vents would return, and it was all he could do to keep her mind on other things. It was a dying furnace, he told her, though he couldn't explain _why_ it would make such a noise, or the moaning of the wind, which was prevalent during the recent storm, proving all the more this wasn't the cause of the noise when they could be so easily compared and proven dissimilar.

Keeping away from the basement didn't work, either, as its residents created such a horrendous racket, it could be heard throughout the vast, lonely mansion, and closing the vents made the rooms even more frigid than they already were and caused Eva to beg him all the more to go down there and fix the issue if the furnace really was at fault like he said. And she watched him far too closely at times like this, to pull apart with her mere gaze his excuses, as if she might find the truth hidden within if she did.

Yes, it could have been a very lovely time, the best, in fact, that the hunter had had in a good many years, which was the very reason he almost wished the rain would cease just so she could leave before their time was spoiled any further.

With his previous attempts at avoiding the noise unsuccessful, including a walk in the rain and the cold that he insisted they take one night that served only to put them both in foul spirits, Razoff finally gave in to her request to listen to him play the harpsichord, no matter how incompetent she would soon find he was at it, as it might at least keep her mind, and her ears, on other things.

As he struggled through yet another song that involved an unnatural rhythm and rests not at all found in the sheet music, he attempted to fill the gaps in the song with noise of his own.

"I swear I used to be better at this once," the hunter said as he turned the page when the current one looked far too complex, and Eva giggled from where she stood at the window to gaze out at the darkness with both hands tucked behind her back.

"You're doing fine. Better than _I'd_ do. Oh," she twisted around to look back at him, "play 'The Merry Bells'. I love that song. You know that one, don't you?"

He made a quick check of the sheet music. "No, I'm afraid not. You're just going to have to settle with 'The Mouse Tiptoes by the Cat'. Even a _child_ could play that one."

"And I'm sure you'll play it twice as well as a child."

"I'm not certain that was a compliment."

She giggled again. "Of course, it was, silly. Now play. Serenade me."

"I think if you replaced 'serenade' with 'pester', it would be a far more accurate statement."

"I'm _waiting_."

He rubbed his hands together, and then he began, the fact that this was meant to be a children's song not giving him any advantage.

"Maybe your fingers are just stiff from the cold," Eva said, and he lost his concentration.

"Yes. That's likely it. That's _definitely_ the problem." His place forgotten, he started over from the beginning. Or _maybe_ the reason his music was so pitiful was just because he had neglected to tune the blasted... Oh, Razoff, old chap, who are you fooling?

"I take it you don't play any instruments, Eva?" he asked during one of his self-made breaks.

"No. I just know I'd never be good at it."

"Have you ever _tried_?"

She released a single laugh. "One doesn't always have to try something to know they won't be good at it. And besides, I'm more of the singing type."

"Then, let's hear it. Serenade me, my sweet, buttered biscuit."

Eva giggled and looked back to catch a most sly grin upon his face. "Dear me, no! I simply couldn't!"

Razoff reversed his position on the stool to better face her. "Why not? I've already made my best efforts at a few songs for you. Now I'd like to hear some of yours. Surely you have the voice of an angel and a sparrow all rolled into one."

"I doubt it." She sat down on the windowsill. "And I can only sing to music. Learn 'The Merry Bells', and I promise I'll sing for you."

"Consider it done, then." He spun about to face the instrument again, his hands hovering over the keys. "Just sing it for me so I know how it goes."

"No, I won't be tricked _that_ easily?"

"Hum it, then."

"Razoff. No. Surely you must have some sheet music for it. It's the loveliest song in the world."

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. "My dear, _any_ song is the loveliest in the world if sung by you. But, if you refuse to lighten the heart of a tired, old hunter—"

"Oh, stop it, you!"

"—then at least indulge my wish to hear more of that sweet voice of yours and tell me, if you don't play any instrument, and you refuse to sing when immensely handsome people, myself, for example—"

She giggled.

"—ask you very nicely to do so, _and_ you don't engage in such rewarding pastimes as, I don't know, hunting, what _have_ you been doing to occupy your time all our years apart, hmm?"

"Oh, can't you guess? I was busy pining for _you_, my darling."

"Yes, yes, of course. But, besides that."

She put a finger to her lip as her gaze lifted to the ceiling. "Let's see. Well, I…I did all kinds of things. I…well…" Her hands dropped to her lap. "I-I guess, on second thought, I never really did anything all that interesting."

"Enlighten me, nevertheless." Like one thrown off a mawpaw and who insists on climbing back on every, single time, because they're too stupid to just give up, he took up "The Mouse" once again, keeping it slow so as to allow his feeble musical skills to keep up.

"Sewing new clothes, mainly. I…"

"Don't you have servants to do that sort of work?"

"Well, uh…why, yes, but…I'd rather do it myself. Mother taught me how, and I find it quite relaxing, and…"

Razoff let out a breath when he hit a sharp note one time too many and began to search for a song even easier than "The Mouse Tiptoes by the Cat". He looked back when he failed to find one. "You're telling me your _mother_ sewed?"

Eva stared at him, her eyes flicking this way and that, before she gave a meek nod. "Y-yes, she did. I-just because we…what I mean to say is, sewing is not just for…oh, what's wrong with sewing? There's something to be said of being productive, I think. At least, that's what Father always said, and I certainly agree with him."

The hunter arched an eyebrow. "My dear, it was merely a question. And your father sounds like a wise man. It's not often one hears such sentiments expressed by…one of noble breeding. Too many are content to be waited on hand and foot. _My_ father was no exception."

Razoff spun around in his seat again to better face her. He couldn't stand another second of being made to look like a fool by that blasted instrument, and he hadn't caught any wailing for the past half hour. "Were you close to your parents, my dear?" he asked.

Her face brightened, and she nodded. "Oh, yes, very. Especially with my mother, but my father and I got along quite well, also. He was just a stern man. Very strict, but very kind, nevertheless."

The hunter attempted to lean back, but jerked forward again when he inadvertently pressed several of the keys, Eva's attempt at suppressing laughter not going unnoticed. And the sad thing was, that was likely the best single note he had played all evening.

"Well, it's good to hear it. As bad as my father could be, my mother wasn't much the loving type. As I'm sure you know, she loved the thrill of the hunt almost as much as he did, but where she differed from him most was the fact that she didn't want me to be a part of it. It was my nursemaid that raised me, and it was she that attempted to teach me the harpsichord. She played it beautifully herself. A better woman could hardly be found, and it grieved me no small amount to hear that she passed away just over a year ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," Razoff said. "It is the lot of all things to die one day, as you very well know, though it is a fact ingrained particularly in the hunter, though I am sure I need not… Eva, you're not hearing it again, are you?"

She looked all about before jumping to her feet, and he did the same, ready to reach for his rifle, when she turned to stare out the window.

"Razoff," she said, and he drew closer.

"What is it?"

"The rain. It's…" she looked back at him, "it's stopped."

* * *

><p>The very next morning, it was up to Razoff, as the only man available on such short notice, to do the rowing, while it was Eva's duty to, as she called it, "look pretty", and she certainly did in a fresh, white dress with pink flowers sewn upon the collar, along with a parasol of lace he believed to be only for show when there was absolutely no sunlight to keep at bay. This place was called the Bog of <em>Murk<em> for a reason. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time he had actually seen the sun.

They found a relatively pleasant spot, all things considered, to disembark, and he held her by her free hand as he helped her out of the small boat he used when travelling by foot was out of the question. The ground was mush, and she complained of soiled shoes, something he lamented over long ago and once upon a time, but which he had since learned to live with.

Their picnic took place on a blanket that would surely be irreversibly filthy once it had completed its assigned purpose for the day, and their meal consisted of a variety of things Eva had prepared, such as most miraculous slices of bread with egg somehow baked right in and scones and biscuits with jam for dessert. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day, which explained the theme. He really preferred dinner, where he could sit in front of the fireplace with a meat pie and ponder over what the next day would bring, though after tasting the kinds of things she made for breakfast, he supposed he could be swayed.

Their meal managed to spread itself out among many of those brisk, morning hours, interrupted by a good deal of chattering about all the pointless sorts of things two people were so apt to come up with when they were simply enjoying one another's company.

After a morning and an early afternoon filled with food and talk and laughter, along with a walk that didn't last terribly long due to stomach cramps, their day out came to a close when the clouds burst open again and they were drenched from above and given no choice but to turn tail and row back home as quickly as the hunter's arms would allow. That didn't mean it all had to end, however, and once they arrived back within the safety of his home, they sat upon a blanket, a fresh blanket, before their usual fireplace, minus the food, as she simply couldn't afford any more calories (according to her, though, not him), to continue from where they had left off.

And yet, with the rain returned and the day, after some time, dwindling down as it always did, it came to their attention that the heat from the fireplace was not quite as sufficient as it used to be. Or perhaps something was just missing. Unless Razoff was mistaken, the furnace had run out of firewood again, and he moved to sit close to her, as if in some kind of proof that there was no need for him to return to the basement.

The temperature dropped further over the next few days, and Eva began to request that he do something about the chill they had found about them, at first asking, then pleading, and then they became demands, and his efforts to pull her close to him on the sofa they had begun to share only resulted in her pulling away to alight on a nearby armchair, claiming it would be warmer there because it was closer to the fireplace, though the tight tone of her voice said even more than her words did.

She retired to her room early one night, leaving him alone in the same empty house he had endured these past decades, but not the same silence. At least, not when the wailing decided to pick up again.

They had kept up this nonsense every night without fail, and no effort at keeping it from Eva's notice had succeeded, for the hunter always detected an alertness in her anymore, like a deer listening for the crunch of a twig or the rustle of dry leaves that just might signal the approach of a predator. He knew that look all too well; he had seen it in the demeanor of his prey times untold, and now, here it was, on Eva, but it felt as if it was he, and not her, that was being hunted, and if he wasn't careful, one wrong move could spell disaster.

He sat for some time in that spot, and he couldn't help but fidget about, before getting up to pace, until at last, he took hold of his rifle and marched down the walkway of the grand hall, but once he reached the landing of the stairs in the foyer, he stopped when he heard a shifting of something below, and the grip on his gun tightened. If one of the beasts was attempting an escape, he would show it no mercy. He had showed it mercy enough by allowing it to live for as long as he had, and being the master of this place, it was his and his right alone to decide when its end would come.

And yet, when he peered over the bannister, all that met his keen eyes was none other than Eva, a spectral figure in her pale nightgown, crouched down and gazing right back up at him beside the basement door, a mouse cornered by a cat, a mouse caught nibbling at the cat's dinner.

"Eva, what in Polokus' name are you doing here?" Razoff said as he rounded the stairs, and she stood, slow and unsteady, as he met her in the foyer, and a hand began to fidget with the collar of her gown.

"Razoff, if you're not going to fix the furnace, then I—"

"That's not why you're—"

"Then, why'd you ask?"

He grew silent at this, even the wailing ceased for now, and he stared at her long and hard, but she met his gaze with a resoluteness like stone that he never expected from one normally so meek.

"I told you to leave it alone," he said, whether or not he had truly said that not much mattering. He thought he had been clear enough, nevertheless. "It's _my_ house, and it's my business whether or not the furnace gets fixed. Not yours."

"Why do you care so much?" Eva said, and her eyes flicked to what he held clutched in his hands. "Why do you carry a rifle about your own house, Razoff? What are you afraid of?"

"Just go back to your room, Eva."

"What's in the basement—"

"Go to your room, Eva!"

"What's in the basement, Razoff?"

The hunter grabbed her by the arm, but she pulled away just as quick. "I can find my way back just fine, thank you very much." She didn't move from that spot, however, but continued to watch him, ready to respond to whatever may come, and then she left, stiff-backed, and he watched her until she had disappeared from sight through the blackness of the nearest doorway.

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><p>A random note, but once in elementary school, we were assigned different locations in the world, and we brought in food from that place. One person brought in this delicious bread with egg baked into it, kind of like French toast, but far more baffling. It was delicious. And Razoff apparently agrees.<p>

Please review, dearies.


	7. Chapter 7: Resuming the Hunt

I think there's some good stuff later on in this chapter, even if it's a bit short.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Resuming the Hunt<strong>

Despite the rain, Razoff returned to hunting the very next day, though not to avoid Eva's nagging, but to escape her new silence. Raindrops pattered on the wide brim of his hat and created a curtain all along the edges that would have hindered his vision had he not grown accustomed to this sort of thing. And though the cold rainwater struck his snout where it couldn't be hidden by his hat, the storm was not so difficult for him to ignore, even if it would have been for anyone else, for the hunter was in his element in times like this, when even the deluge outside his mansion and the flooding of the bog and the cold brought about by damp air could not keep him away, for he was a predator, and he couldn't be weak, he couldn't be coddled and cozy inside if he ever wished to show himself the mightier being. Out here in this dismal place roamed his prey, and if such creatures could endure the harshness of the Bog of Murk, he could do so much better.

He hunted all that day and the next and the next, spending much of his time gliding over the murky and pungent waters in his small boat, its surface broken by his passage and the pole and the countless ripples of a million raindrops that intermingled to form intricate patterns. The toads were abundant in this sort of weather, and they hopped about on the muddy banks without a care for who it was that passed them by, croaking all the while beneath the drone of the rain.

Eva had been ever so quiet after their…confrontation in the foyer that night, and he couldn't say he was in much of a mood to try and start up any real conversation with her when he would surely be interrupted by the wailing he could no longer hide from her. Whenever it would return, as it never failed to do, she would abandon any discussion they had been attempting, and he would watch as she stared at the floor and chewed on her lower lip until he could watch no more and had no choice but to leave the room. If he couldn't be where he wished in his own home, he might as well be outside it, even if it seemed truly absurd to be effectively kicked out in such a manner.

But, never before had the residents of his basement kept up this level of nonsense for so long, and he could only wonder if one prisoner in particular was the culprit responsible for making them do it.

The hunter got out of his boat onto a more remote and overgrown section of the bog, and he pulled it onto the shore by a rope, which he tied about a tree he thought could take it. He had scarcely travelled this far out since the time of his captivity in the hands of the witch, and he knew the rain was not going to keep her inside. In fact, it might very well _draw_ her out, but this was a chance he was willing to take. The majestic rybex was somewhere in this bog, and he had to find it, and he was hardly having any luck searching about closer to home.

He trekked across the wet landscape for quite a time, the life he led back home feeling as far away as it was. That life was not currently a part of him, for all that mattered right now was the hunt. He was not just the hunter; he was the hunt itself. The only way to ever truly feel alive was to accept the harsh fact of the wilderness, that there was no law but to kill or be killed, a law he had thus far been on the winning side of.

Thunder began to roll in from the west, and the rain became nearly horizontal as the wind picked up and blew in short gusts that put his hat in very real danger of escaping him. He gripped its brim with one hand as he began to march in the direction of a clump of crooked, black trees illuminated grey in the lightning flashes. In all his long years, he did not recall ever coming to this place before, and he had to admit it possessed the most eerie feeling. The trees creaked and groaned as they swayed stiffly in the wind, and he crept beneath them with utmost caution, ducking low to avoid their branches. As he inspected the ground, the grass looked flattened, as if something large had lain here, and after directing his vision next upward, he found the branches overhead to be so intertwined, only a drop here or a drop there managed to sneak through.

Razoff flinched in response to the splitting crash of lighting not so very far off. Perhaps now was not a good time to be hunting, especially when standing in what could surely be none other than the lair of the beast he sought, the mighty rybex, when such a creature would be none too pleased to find him encroaching on its territory, in its very _nest_, of all places, and when the storm would do a fine job of allowing the creature to sneak up on him without the hunter hearing its approach.

With a good deal of willpower, fueled mainly by the basic desire for self-preservation, the hunter returned home, making sure he mapped his way back to this spot so many times in his mind that he would never forget, for at last, after decades, nay, his entire life spent searching, the hunter would have the magnificent prey he so sought and would finally fulfill his dead family's tradition.

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><p>The hunter dreamt that night of uneasy dreams. He dreamt that he had trekked out into the bog countless miles before he stopped short to find himself teetering on the edge of a steep incline, and there, down at the bottom, lay the majestic rybex beneath the copse of stiff, black trees. And then he was standing before it, and it was dead, and he couldn't recall if it was he who had ended its life or if it had already been that way before he got there. And it was silent here, more silent than the bog had ever been. No toads or insects or the patter of rain or the whistle of wind through the twisted tree branches. And then the silence was broken by screaming, and it was <em>him<em> on the ground, and then…

Razoff awoke to a wild mixture of screaming and cackling coming up through the vents, and he left his bedchamber without care to change out of his long, red nightshirt, his rifle in tow, to head for the basement. The sound grew louder the closer he drew, until he halted before the basement door, unable at first to approach, and even when he did, he stopped again to stare at it and inspect its surface as if it held something of dire consequence.

Did it really matter anymore? Surely his secret was long revealed, its presence, at least, even if not the details. And she didn't need to know _what_ was down there, as long as she knew that _something_ was.

Perhaps when the rain ended…

The hunter opened the basement door, but he was not met with the racket he so expected, but only a silence that began with the first squeak of the turning knob. He locked the door behind him before marching down the steps, and his ears caught not even the clink of a chain nor the shifting of some unseen creature. It was the same silence as his dream, and he stopped before one cell in particular.

"You're the one responsible, aren't you?" he asked the blackness. "Don't deny it. It could be absolutely no one else."

There was no answer, and he adjusted his grip on his rifle as he continued, "If you don't stop this nonsense at once, I might very well need to prepare a new space on my wall. Or perhaps you would find a rug to be a more suitable use for you? Well, answer me. I know you can speak. You weren't shy about it in the past, and you obviously weren't just a moment ago."

Even now, he was met with nothing but more silence, and he narrowed his eyes and peered deeper in the cell to catch some sign of what he knew to reside within. He didn't make idle threats, and she should be more than familiar with that fact by now.

He sniffed. "Hiding out in the shadows like an animal, I see. I should have expected no better. If—"

Razoff withdrew a step when a figure lunged for him with an intensity one so malnourished shouldn't be capable of, and a lithe female figure wrapped slender fingers around the bars of her cell door and grinned at him from beneath wild, purple hair.

"Being an animal is better than _some_ things I can think of."

"Ah, so you finally decide to reveal yourself. I'm surprised you can show your face after all that absurdity you just orchestrated. Because it _was_ you, wasn't it?"

She arched both of her thin eyebrows, the eyes set beneath glittering with a wild gleam they didn't possess when he first procured her. "You ask like you don't know," she said with a tilt of her head. "Do you really not know, wise and all-seeing hunter?"

"I just wanted to hear the confession from your own lips."

These lips only smiled wider. "Yes, I made them all sing. Because I heard you had a guest. Who is she? And what does that say about her character that she'd visit a—"

"Enough!" he said, and he stepped closer, repeating the word when her mouth opened to say more. "How dare you speak as if you know what goes on above! This is my business and mine alone, and—"

"Let us meet her."

"I will not—"

"Let us meet her! What are you afraid of? Does our presence down here in the dark bring you shame? Why should it, if it is your right, as a superior being, to imprison us?"

"I do not have to answer the questions of your kind—"

She laughed, a sound that would almost be melodic if it wasn't for the mad twinge hiding within. "_My_ kind? My kind has been around since the beginning of time. _My_ kind is-_was_ a wise and peaceful race, and while I will admit I have not lived up to the honor of being of their kin, it is only because being treated like an animal has a way of turning one _into_ an animal. But, do you know what becomes of the one _providing_ this treatment, great hunter? And if not, would you like me to tell you?"

Razoff tried countless times throughout this display of insolence to silence her, but it was only until she allowed it that he was able to get a word in, and these words were all the louder to make up for his previous inability to say them, and he stepped closer, not about to allow any effectiveness to be lost.

"Perhaps I am not being as direct as I intended! My purpose for coming down here, my _only_ purpose, was to demand that you cease your infernal racket before one of you becomes a head on my wall! Do I make myself clear?"

"She doesn't know, does she?" the one in the cell said in a self-satisfied whisper meant only for the two of them. "That explains it. It's not her character that's to blame; it's simply that she has yet to fully comprehend yours."

He suppressed a wince as she released a single laugh in response to a joke that was hers and hers alone, and she withdrew back into the shadows, only a sliver of an outline still visible. Along with the twin glitter of eyes. "In that case…we won't sing again for our freedom. You win, as you always do, wouldn't you agree, mighty hunter?"

"There will be no freedom. Not as long as I live."

He thought he caught her shoulders shake in silent mirth, and she said, "You got your way. Does that still not please you? From now on, enjoy your company undisturbed. Polokus knows you get little of it." With that, she vanished back into the darkness from whence she came.

"That is correct. I always get my way. Don't forget that," he said, though his voice lacked conviction, and he returned to the foyer, the furnace going unremembered, and once the door was as locked as it ever would be, he leaned his back against it and nearly slid down when his legs threatened to give out beneath him.

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><p>Yes, I do think the second half of this chapter was pretty darn okay. And have you guessed who she is yet, the secret prisoner? Please give me your guesses. And, as always, please review.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8: A Proposal

Hello, my dearies. I was rather worried that this story was nearing its end without receiving any reviews, but after looking at my stats, it was to my great relief that I found that people _have_ been reading my little tale, after all, and I want to thank you all. There are a mere two chapters left….

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: A Proposal<strong>

Razoff found himself in the kitchen with a splitting headache early that morning despite little sleep, currently occupied with stabbing an egg with a fork he regretted frying when there were other, less sickening ways of preparing it. It had still been dark when he had first ended up in here, and the sun was just starting to rise when a voice broke the heavy silence.

"Razoff, are you okay?"

He didn't bother to look up as Eva seated herself across from him, her chair making such a sharp scrape against the floor when she pulled it back from the table that the intensity of his headache shot up a degree or two. He supposed he should just be grateful he had remembered to change into something more suitable for company before coming down here.

"Razoff…"

"Yes, Eva, I'm perfectly all right." By now, the fried egg was little more than a yolky mess, and it was only to prevent himself from yielding to some sudden sickness that he looked up to find her in a fresh yellow dress, sullied only by the look in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" These eyes flicked to the massacred egg. "I can make something else if you—"

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, well…" She tugged on the ends of the lacey sleeves her delicate hands were protruding from before returning to folding these hands across each other in front of her. "How…how has your hunting been going?"

"Fine."

"Have you…found anything?"

"Nothing worth mentioning."

"That was quite a storm yesterday. It's certainly easy to…the way the wind was shrieking, I could certainly see how…" By now, she was addressing the table, or perhaps the fingers she kept steepling repeatedly. As if just now realizing he had fallen away from her vision, she looked up again. "It's turning out to be another bad one today, if the wind and the dark clouds are anything to go by."

"Yes, I suppose it is." His mouth was dry, but he had neglected to brew any tea this morning, not that he believed his stomach could handle it, and the water here wasn't the best, either.

"So, does that mean you'll be staying inside today?"

"It might."

A tight smile pushed itself onto her lips. "Well, that's good. We haven't been talking terribly much, and… Do you remember the time we got caught out in that rainstorm? Not recently, I mean. The time when we were still young. It was thundering something awf-ah, it was-it was really quite a storm. Do you remember that? The lightning was so bad and so close, we were almost certain we'd be struck. At least, _I_ was."

"Yes," the hunter said. "I do believe I remember that day. We cowered under the nearest tree until it eventually passed. Not the safest thing to do in a thunderstorm, I must admit."

Eva laughed. "But, being out in the open didn't seem any better." She considered him for a moment, or to be more exact, the space above his head, before adding, "I don't think your hat would be a very safe thing to wear out in a storm like that, would it?"

"Hmm, well, let's take a look, shall we?" He removed the wide-brimmed hat from his head and tapped the pointed metal tip with one finger. "I see your point." Pun not necessarily intended. "That is a lightning hazard if I ever saw one."

She nodded. "It definitely looks like you'll need to stay inside with me, then. Otherwise…" Her smile vanished and her brow furrowed in some deep thought. "Razoff, do you remember…that day, with the storm, do you remember that red-spotted squirrel we saw? You know, the one we found caught in one of your father's traps. It took some convincing, but I finally got you to set it free. Do you remember that?"

He returned his hat to its rightful place. "Yes, I remember that, as well. It was a rather lovely creature."

"I know. And I was so glad you let it go. I couldn't stand the thought of such a pretty thing stuck in a trap, frightened out of its wits. Not that I'd want _anything_—"

"No, what I _meant_ to say was, it was such a lovely creature, it would have made a splendid rug."

"Oh, what a terrible thing to say!" She lifted a hand as if to swat at him, but the smile that remained on her face told him there was no real need to attempt any evasive maneuvers.

He chuckled. "The things us men will do for a pretty face, eh, Eva, my dear?"

She batted her eyelashes. "Yes, because it's us ladies that give men a conscious."

"Is that so?" Razoff asked, and he stood to take the plate with the uneaten, but not untouched, fried egg.

"It's so."

He scraped it off the plate with a fork into the rubbish bin, but it was not until he had progressed to the sink that a thought occurred to him. "But, Eva…I don't believe we released the squirrel the same day as the rainstorm."

"Oh, we-we didn't? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. That was the day we visited the pond, and you lamented on how low the water level had gotten. I don't think _that_ happened during one of the worst storms in a decade, nor would we have decided to seek out _more_ water in such a situation."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you're right. I guess…I guess time has a way of causing our memories to run together."

"I suppose."

"But, Razoff…"

When she failed to continue, he looked back over his shoulder, and he might have caught a lack of a smile before it returned as if it hadn't ever been absent. "Yes?"

"Well, it's…" She blinked. "I just thought it was ever so nice of you to let it go. That's all."

"Yes, yes, I suppose it was," he said. "Even us hunters are capable of some kindness every once in a while."

"Of _course_, they are. But…speaking of storms, once this one ends…"

With the plate as clean as it would ever be, or as clean as he could be bothered with at the moment, he turned back to her. "Yes, my dear, what is it?"

She shook her head. "Oh, never mind. It's not important right now. It's just…"

"You'll be returning home once the rain ends. Is that what you meant to say?"

"Well, I…I'm not saying I'm in a _hurry_ to leave or anything. It's just…I can't stay forever, I mean, I'm just a guest, and… You know, let's not think about that right now. The storm won't be stopping anytime soon, I'm sure. We still have time. We…there's still time, right, my dear?"

"Yes, plenty."

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><p>Eva was in the hunter's grand mansion out in the middle of the bog for several weeks, though it was not just the storm alone that kept her there. Not a sound was ever heard from the basement again, nor was a word spoken about the chill he would do nothing about, and they settled again into sitting close as they talked, day in and day out, about whatever they could think of, though the topics revolved mainly about the past and not so much about the present, and his attention was split with thoughts of the hunt and other things.<p>

And each night after he bid her sweet dreams, he would unlock that long-sealed drawer in his desk to read the letters she had sent, to patch up any missing memories he had of her, until that picture was more whole than it had ever been before. When they were together, they spoke of long ago, and they formed new, fresh memories here in the present, while the letters accounted for the whole span of time in between, and not a lovelier, sweeter thing could be imagined than she.

The only unsettling thing was the picture he painted of himself, as it was a picture that was less familiar than it ought to have been. The boy he was long ago was not the man he was now. He was a far greater hunter now, thanks to decades of practice and maturity. But, she spoke so fondly of that past him that he wondered sometimes if she had feelings just as strong for who he had become.

And yet, she hadn't changed. The mental image he formed of her was clear and pure, for she was today who he remembered her always to be, and soon, he could return to the swamp where they met, for the spectacular prey he sought so long for was finally within grasp, and once the storm died down, he would have it, the beast his father could no longer deny him. Then, there would be nothing keeping him here. Nothing at all, save those he kept locked several floors down, and he would decide on how to deal with them when the time came.

Oh, but it was a wonder she never again brought up the noises they made. And he would be doing himself a disservice to think someone could forget such a thing so easily, but he supposed he couldn't fret too much over the secrets he knew had yet to leave her memory, for he was not the only one who kept secrets.

She came to him crying the day the rain stopped, but he reminded her that she surely couldn't leave until the water receded a bit, to which she was more than ready to agree. And though she would be staying for a few days more, perhaps tonight would be the perfect time to reveal his happy news to her.

Razoff suggested an evening of dancing was in order, something her own giddiness insisted couldn't wait until so late, but he had to be strict for her own good. It was not the first time they had danced together, for all those of high society had to know such things, and even the hunter was no exception. The first time he had asked her so many years ago, Eva had let it slip that she had never learned how, or at least, was not very good at it, but he had little trouble teaching her, and her own natural grace made her a quick learner.

They wore their finest that night, he in his nicest red coat with an intricate gold trim and cuffs, and she in a dress of many skirts he had already seen several times this visit, but which somehow made her look so much lovelier tonight than it ever had before. And he detected a hint of perfume, a delicate scent of flowers and possibilities, barely there, but it was enough.

The two of them danced and twirled about without need for music, and though they were not entirely coordinated at first, it wasn't long before one would think they had never been apart. And after a time, a tune began, as she hummed a sweet song in a voice sweeter still, that all originated behind an enigmatic smile no man had ever learned to decipher, and just the mere sight of it muddled his mind, making it impossible to explain the meaning behind it, even if he _had_ possessed such an ability.

The dancing stopped, her skirt going still last of everything, and he grabbed both of her hands in his own, and when he spoke, he kept his voice low, so as not to disturb the tranquility of that night.

"Eva."

"Yes, Razoff?"

"You remember that promise we made so long ago, before I left to come to this place?"

Her smile faltered, and her eyes took on a curious solemnity. "Yes, Razoff, I do."

"Well," he said, "how about it?"

"How…oh, Razoff, I—"

"I have found it. I have found it at last. The rybex, I mean," the hunter told her in a rising voice, "I have located its nest, den, what have you, and it will be mine any day now. And then I can return to the swamp, and I can—"

She pulled her hands from his. "Oh, Razoff," she repeated, and he frowned even as his hands remained lifted to hers.

"Eva, whatever is the—"

She began to back away from him and shook her head. "I—"

"Eva…"

She stepped back a few paces more, only to stop and observe him like a madman one didn't wish to turn their back on. And then she turned, without warning, and fled the room, and he did not make to pursue her.

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><p>Well…that could have gone better…. Prepare for the final chapter, dear readers, and please review while you wait.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9: Fleeting

This is it, the final chapter of my little tale. A lot's going to happen, some things you may have seen coming and, hopefully, a lot you didn't.

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><p><strong>Chapter 9: Fleeting<strong>

Eva didn't come back that night, nor did she make her presence known the next morning, and as mid morning began to roll by without any indication she planned on returning, the hunter was left with no choice but to come to her. He found the room where she had been spending her nights, a room he remembered choosing for her because the gutters here didn't bang against the outer walls as much when the wind of the recent storm blew, and he rapped his knuckles against her bedroom door.

"C-come in," said the voice that issued forth, and he obeyed its bidding to find her sitting on a large canopy bed with her bags resting nearby. It was a pleasant room, dressed with a tranquil light filtering through sheer curtains to illuminate the edge of golden bed sheets patterned with leaves, a picture of luxury that was a far cry from the dank and muddy environment that lay just on the other side of the red-painted walls.

"Going somewhere, my dear?"

"Razoff," Eva said, though her gaze remained ahead of her, "I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry I ran away, but—"

"There's nothing to apologize for," he said, and he lowered himself into a chair in the line of her vision. Reclining back in his seat, he continued, "But, I don't recall ever getting an answer to my question."

Now she chose to look upon him, and that secret he saw in her eyes the night she first arrived was back, though closer to the surface than he had ever before seen it. "Yes, I remember. We were-" Her eyes retreated again as she rose to her feet as if in some sudden remembrance. "Oh, but I must return home. It's still wet out, but I think it's always going to be _somewhat_ wet, and-" She attempted to head for the door, her stiff march slowed down by large bags trying to be carried by thin arms, but froze as soon as he spoke.

"Eva. Sit."

She set her bags back down and did as she was told, though she remained straight-backed, with her hands lying palm-down in her lap.

Razoff arched an eyebrow at her. "Why are you suddenly in such a hurry to leave? Just yesterday, you were sobbing over having to return home so soon, and now you seem _eager_. If you really _do_ remember our promise, I should say, I'm a bit…offended at your response."

She shook her head. "Oh, Razoff, no, it's not _that_. It's just…I remember our promise, I do, we…we were going to get married, once you came back. But, that's not why…" A finger lifted to her mouth that she appeared very much to want to nibble on. "Oh, how can I possibly say this?"

"Say _what_? Eva, you're going to want to speak up, and soon, or else I'll have to assume the worst. Isn't that what _you_ always say?" But, his smile didn't incite the same from her, and he slouched further in his chair as he steepled his fingers. "Well, now? Speak."

By now, her gaze had fallen to the rug, with no signs of being jolted from that spot anytime soon. "Razoff." Her voice was a breathy whisper. "Razoff, I-I'm…engaged."

He remained silent for a time, the entire room awaiting his response with bated breath, even the clock's ticking muted, and she began to fidget under his gaze. "You're engaged," he repeated.

"Yes."

"And to a man that is not myself, I presume."

She nodded.

"And why didn't you tell me this sooner? In fact," he caught her squeeze her eyes shut, "why did you even come here to begin with?"

Her head jerked up with enough speed, one would think her at risk of whiplash. "Oh, but I wanted to see you, Razoff! I missed you ever so much, but…you must understand! I waited years for you to return. _Decades_. I—"

His hands alighted on the armrests. "So did I."

"That's _not_ the same thing! You-you see, I knew him for a long time, but I spurned his advances because I was waiting for you. But, eventually, a day came when I could wait no longer. I just…"

"So this was all a charade, then?" He made a sweep of one hand. "You came all this way, and yet you had feelings for—"

"Razoff, I loved you!"

She stiffened as soon as these words left her lips, and she watched him with wide eyes as he became silent again to think this over. At last, he spoke, "Is he fine with this? With your…visit?"

"Ye-he…he doesn't know. He thinks I went to see a friend."

The hunter released a single laugh. "I'm glad you at least retain _some_ pleasant sentiments towards me. But, it only leaves me to wonder, do you always make a _habit_ of lying?"

It was her turn to grow silent, and her eyes swiveled left and right as her mind attempted to digest this accusation. "Lying? What do you _mean_, do I- No, I never _lied_ to you, Razoff!"

"No?" He pushed himself to his feet. "What about your name? Your family name is _not_ Bellevere, is it, Eva, my dear? In fact, you are not even of noble blood, though you did a fine job of perpetuating this story for all the years you so _faithfully_ awaited my return."

She jumped to her feet, as well, her jaw working to find the words to say, and when she spoke, these words came out in a squeak. "Razoff, I-I-" She searched about the room for some escape from her current plight, and she licked her lips. "How…how did you know?"

"I _always_ knew." He strode by her to gaze out the window at the bleak landscape below with his hands clasped behind his back. "From the moment I met you, I knew. The mannerisms in you speech. The quality of your clothing. Your obvious attempts to recall details of your life that, in fact, were not true to begin with." He looked back. "No one forgets their own surname for that long, Eva. Or should I say, Eva Bellevere?"

"Stop it."

"You had to know I'd find out one day. Or did you plan to hide it forever?"

"Stop."

He turned to face her fully. "Oh, but that's right. You ran off and found another while my back was turned, so I suppose that lessened the need to keep a secret long term didn't it, my de—"

"Stop it!"

His ears rang with the volume of this plea, and with the flow of her speech returned to her, she continued, "Just stop it! I'm sorry I lied to you, but I didn't think you'd want me otherwise. I—"

The hunter stepped towards her. "Do you really think I'm that shallow?"

"I don't know, _are_ you? The only reason _you_ could stay so…so loyal was because you spent the last three decades alone. Don't deny that _you_ wouldn't have found someone else yourself if you weren't isolated in this…Polokus-forsaken wasteland for so long. That's why you never introduced me to your parents, wasn't it? Because _they_ would know I was…a…a common girl, too. W-wouldn't—"

Both hands went to her mouth, but they couldn't stop the tears from falling, and she sobbed in squeaks and hiccups, and with the conversation at an end, he strode by her in silence, but he was halted in the doorway when a broken question reached his ears. "R-Razoff, what…what are-are you hiding…i-in your basement? What are you keeping down there?"

"I've already told you," he said. "It was the squealing of a dying furnace. That was all."

He returned to his office, for lack of a better place to be, save for out on a hunt he didn't currently possess the proper soundness of mind to have any success at. He sat for a time in silence, or paced this way and that before the crackling hearth, a securely bolted door between himself and the world.

Yes, he had known about her secret, for no hunter worth his salt would miss the obvious flaws she so unknowingly displayed. The Shoedsackovski's knew all the noble families within a hundred miles, and they would have known hers, if they had existed. Not to mention he had tracked her to her home one day, a shoddy hovel just as crooked and wretched as what all the rabble in her village lived in. But, he had loved her, for it was the fault of all young men to so easily throw their hearts away to anything with a pretty face.

He should have known her sort would be unfaithful. No better than animals, they all were.

He caught her in the act of slinking away an hour later, for his hunter's intuition told him she would try such a thing, and she froze like any animal would, as all creatures did when faced with the approach of the predator they sensed would bring about their end.

"I suppose it's farewell, then," Razoff said as he strode towards her with arms folded behind his back, and she watched him, waiting for him to speak further, but he didn't.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it is."

He inclined his head in but a single nod, and she dropped sad eyes to the floor.

"I just…wanted to see you one last time."

"Well, now you've done it."

Her eyes returned to stare at him, her lips moving as if ready to say more, so much more, until she turned away. She opened one of two great double doors, and she stopped in the doorway, speaking but one final farewell, and then she was gone, the hand slipping from the doorknob the last thing he saw of her before she was no more.

His feet moved with a mind of their own, and he did a good deal more pacing about the quiet rooms and halls of his empty mansion, before these feet took him to the basement door, which he opened with no semblance of his usual hunter's stealth, and the door struck the wall as he marched down the stairs without caring to close it behind him.

"You did this," he said before he had even reached the cell he had in mind, and he said it again when he stopped to glare into the darkness imprisoned behind those bars, and he caught the glimmer of eyes in the gloom.

"I see."

"She's gone. She left because of you. If you hadn't—"

"My only crime comes from revealing to her your own. So if that is what you're accusing me of, then yes, I am guilty."

The glimmer disappeared as she turned her head away, and Razoff struck the bars with the palm of one hand. "I am not through with you yet! Look at me when I speak to you! Look at me! What gives you the right to meddle in someone else's business?"

Her head snapped back in his direction, and her large eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness. "I didn't reveal anything to her she didn't already know! And as for rights, you are the least qualified to speak on such a topic!" The orbs of her eyes rose as she stood, and she came to him and pressed her face to the door of her cell and wrapped her fingers around the bars. "Look me in the eyes and preach about rights!"

He leaned in closer, not once shying away from her gaze. "I can do as I please with my property. My _property_…is not meant to talk back…or attempt to teach me some kind of lesson I care little to learn."

"I wasn't wasting my time with _you_. I was only trying to help _her_."

With a snarl, he pressed the end of his rifle up under her jaw, and she released the bars and tried to step back, but was unable with her head forced upward in such a manner, she had to stand nearly on tiptoes.

"What's stopping me from killing you! You lost your powers the day you were wounded! What's stopping me! I saved your life, and I can just as easily take it away!"

"Do it, then!" Her voice echoed off the walls of her cell. "Kill me! I died the day you locked me in here, so what difference does it make?"

The hunter pulled his rifle away, only to aim it at the paluchard in the cell across from her, and it attempted to press itself into the shadows of the farthest corner.

"No!"

"What's stopping me?" Razoff asked.

She stretched one arm through the bars, her fingers grasping for him. "Don't hurt it because of what _I_ did! This is between you and—"

"You should have considered the consequences of your rebellion before you acted it out!"

"Please. Don't."

Her words went unheeded, however, and she slumped when he fired his rifle, as if she herself had been struck.

"I don't understand," she said as she slid to sit on the floor. "I don't understand what you get from death. The world is filled with it. Why do you want _more_?"

"I am a hunter."

"This is not the same thing." She paused to lick her lips. "I was injured, to the point of death, and you helped me. You bound my wounds. You tended me. We spoke before the fireplace while I lay wrapped in blankets on the sofa. You did all of that, only to lock me away." She turned her eyes to him, glittering with unshed tears, and his gaze upon her faltered. "Is my hatred for you more satisfying than my gratitude?"

* * *

><p>Razoff burned the letters that night. He tossed them each in turn into the hungry flames of the hearth where Eva and he had once sat and discussed all manner of pleasant things, before events had to take the turn that they had, and he sat in his chair and watched the flames lick away the last shreds with a numb heart.<p>

He fell asleep in that chair, and there he spent the night, and he awoke the next morning with an aching back and a grumbling stomach he thought had been left neglected since two evenings ago.

He fed himself plain toast and tea, and then he spent the rest of the day waiting, for the most important moment of his life was tonight, the night he would hunt the elusive rybex he had searched so long and so hard for. He had waited thirty years for another chance to subdue the creature, and now no one was around that could get in his way, for he was Count Razoff Shoedsackovski, and he was the last great hunter left in the world.

He set out with the arrival of dusk, when the sky was a somber blue and the tentative chirp of insects was just beginning their nightly song. He bundled up in a warmer coat tonight, as crimson as all his clothes, for it wouldn't do for low temperatures to hinder his movements and dull his wits, and he walked a path he had traced in his head countless times since first treading it.

It took him a good two hours before he reached the place in question, that lonely copse of trees where rested the beast's nest. A careful perusal showed it to be presently empty, and he hid amongst a thicket of reeds, where he laid on his stomach with his rifle at the ready. Now all that was left was to wait.

The hunter could occupy himself with little else but thoughts of his imminent victory, thoughts he attempted to focus on all the more in order to ignore the uneasiness he could feel creeping up on him like the tickle of a spider web one had inadvertently walked through. It was silent in this part of the bog and deadly still. Not a toad croaked nor an insect chirped, and he caught no movement save the occasional mud beetle. Not even a bird was to be found winging overhead, and though he tried not to think of these things, this effort only succeeded in causing his mind to lock onto these thoughts and refuse to let go.

It was several hours into his wait that he felt it, a tremor in the earth beneath him, but when he waited for it to repeat itself, he was met with nothing. He was flicking away a bug that had had the nerve to crawl onto his nose when he felt it again, a stronger, more obvious force this time, and he stiffened, for he thought he had _heard_ it, as well, a distant thump, followed by the crunching of reeds being pushed aside and an ominous exhalation of breath only a creature of immense stature could produce.

It was here; he had found it, at last. And now, he had but one thing left to do.

Razoff's heart jumped when a shape came into view from behind the shriveled, old trees, and he caught the outline of cruel horns and a beastly snout. And the glitter of eyes in the dark that never failed to unsettle him, even after a life spent as a hunter.

The hunter slid one hand further down the rifle's barrel, ignoring the cry of stiff muscles as he aimed his gun at the creature's throat. Hitting it between the eyes was the best bet for a quick kill, but he couldn't afford to sully it in such a manner. Oh, what a trophy it would make.

Its head snapped in his direction just as he fired, and the arrow missed the artery he had been aiming for, and the creature shrieked as it was hit, rearing up and thrashing about with a fierce rage he had seen in no other beast. He aimed again, but was given no other choice but to roll out of the way when it charged in his direction, and he just missed sharp horns and trampling claws, and it spun around with no shortage of agility as he sprung to his feet. It loomed high above him, gazing down with almost a noble air, of a king staring down at a mouse, and he was stilled just as if he was paralyzed, and he could do no more than freeze in its cold, hard gaze.

It raised an arm, and before he could react, it struck him with one quick motion, and he cried out as he was thrown through the air, ribs surely smashed by the sheer force of it, and he groaned as he landed on the muddy ground a dozen feet away.

The ground shook as it approached, but even though it could so easily crush him into the mud with its own, mighty footsteps, it did little more but circle him, but he knew this temporary mercy wouldn't last for long. Ignoring the knives of broken bone that screamed at him from within his battered chest, he sat up from his spot on the ground and raised his rifle, and he fired again, and it shrieked before it came at him with jagged teeth, and he was reduced to beating it off with the barrel of his gun and his own fists, an act that hardly fazed it. It came for his throat with unforgiving jaws, though his rifle became caught in its mouth, and he fired again and again before it could jerk back. It swatted his rifle from his grasp, and, thoroughly defenseless, he attempted to back away, but it lunged again, and he was picked up as its teeth clamped down on his shoulder, and he was flung aside, no better than a doll in the hands of a child.

Razoff lay broken and bleeding in the mud, gasping in pain and struggling for air when each breath brought nothing but agony. The creature approached him again, and he attempted to lift himself up once more, only to fall back again, and the rybex considered him with those cold, yet strangely intelligent, eyes. He winced as it lowered his head, but rather than meeting the sharp teeth it had so recently displayed, he felt naught but the hot breath of its nostrils on his face, and he couldn't prevent a whimper from escaping him. He had faced death more times than he cared to count, but never had it been so close, so inescapable, as it was now, and the only solace he could come up with was the fact that, even if he had succeeded in the goal he had spent a lifetime seeking, he had nothing left to go back to anyway.

* * *

><p>The hunter's eyes were met with a piercing, white light, but he knew it wasn't the rumored light one saw when death had overtaken them, for he could smell blood and feel a dull ache in every fiber of his body, which turned sharp and unbearable whenever he moved. He winced as his eyes adjusted to the bright, new light of a morning he never thought he'd see, and he attempted to survey his surroundings, but could hardly coax his broken body to move.<p>

How he had managed to survive that ordeal last night, he couldn't possibly say, and he lay panting for quite a time, feeling like weeks were passing him by rather than mere hours, before he could no longer ignore the undeniable truth that lying here would get him nowhere.

He gasped as he pushed his head off the ground just enough so that he could more easily look about him, and he found his rifle not a terrible distance away, but when he reached for it with the arm that felt less resistant to movement, he still did not come close to touching it.

Without thinking of the consequences, he began to drag himself forward, only to cry out and go still again. Breathing heavily, he pulled himself forward again, and once more, and it was only then that he managed to take hold of his rifle, muddied, but surely not to the extent that he was, and pulled it to him.

He dropped his head into the dirt again, cold and damp against his skin, to pant and try his best to ignore the feeling of being cut to pieces and sewn back together again, but when his clouded vision sharpened, if only for a second, he jerked up and blinked several times at the sight before him.

The rybex, that most savage of creatures, that had brought him low not once, but twice, lay slain, several of his arrows sticking out from it at varying angles, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and open them again before he could accept that such a thing had indeed happened.

He had killed it. At last, he had done it, not only fulfilling the tradition of his extinct family, but proving his father to have been wrong all along. And yet, alone out here, in the middle of a barren wasteland people rightly avoided…

Who was there to know?

Razoff began to crawl forward again, before he gave this up in favor of struggling to a hunched standing position with the help of his rifle, and he limped towards the body of the beast with no small amount of groaning. When he reached it, he fell upon it when his waning strength gave out, and he ran a hand over the coarse and silvery fur of a chest that no longer heaved with the breath of life. It was his, all his, and its head would adorn his wall, and…

He went still, blinking again as his vision alternated between varying levels of focus. But, how would he get it home? Especially in his broken state. The beast would take ten to move, and even then, it would require hours of backbreaking work to get it the distance he had travelled to find it.

Alone.

It simply couldn't be done alone. And if he couldn't do what was required in order to preserve proof of the greatest victory of his existence, one which he would be hard pressed to match, here it would remain, to rot and return to the soil, until all evidence of what he had accomplished would be forever erased.

A couple tears slipped down his cheeks before he could prevent any more from falling. And he couldn't return home without it, either, even if he had wanted to. Not with his body in such a sorry state. Though, even once he _had_ gathered the strength to make such a journey, with broken bones and tattered clothes died a crimson they were never meant to possess, how could he possibly leave it behind? How could he possibly forgo even one second of gazing upon what he had accomplished?

Razoff slid down to sit in the mud with his back to the rybex, and he took up again his rifle to hold in his lap as he gazed out at the cold, dead landscape that had been his home for decades and would remain as such for decades more, a landscape he had never before felt so much a part of. And the hunter kept watch over his prey for as long as he was able before his greatest joy wasted away to nothing and no sign of its existence remained.

So fleeting was the greatest victory of the greatest hunter.

* * *

><p>Well, the story's now over, and I must admit, it's a rather strange ending, but I went over several possibilities in my head, including him succeeding, failing, returning home injured, and nothing seemed right but what I went with. I think. I hope.<p>

Anyway, thank you all who took the time to read this and see it through to the end. I hope I did Razoff justice, as I wanted to make him a far deeper character than what's seen in the game. Please review and tell me your thoughts. I'd love to hear them.


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